#4**- 2. 


/^  • 


ROWENY   IN    BOSTON 


H 


BY 


MARIA    LOUISE    POOL 

AUTHOR  OF  "DALLY"  ETC. 


NEW    YORK 

HARPER    &    BROTHERS,    FRANKLIN    SQUARE 
1892 


Copyright,  1892,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 


All  rights  reserved. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAP.  PAGB 

I.  MARTHA  S.  TRYING  "TO  GIT  A   FIT" i 

II.  GOING  BY  BOAT 17 

III.  INVITED  TO  A  SEA-ANTS 34 

IV.  MAJOR  STANGER 48 

V.  A   BUNCH  OF  MATERIALIZED  PINKS 63 

VI.  A  LETTER  FROM  THE  COUNTRY 76 

VII.  SOME  SALESLADIES 90 

VIII.  PHILIP'S  VISIT 103 

IX.  AT  THE  THEATRE 121 

X.  AT  A  BROWNING  CLUB 137 

XI.  GEORGIE 154 

XII.  THE  ADVENT  OF  MARMADUKE 171 

XIII.  A   LITTLE   TALK 188 

XIV.  MR.  FOSTER'S  SISTER 204 

XV.  A  HORSEMAN 219 

XVI.  SOMETHING  ON   HER  MIND 234 

XVII.  THE  EPISODE  OF  MARY  JANE  JEWETT.    ...  250 

XVIII.  ON  LOVE 266 

XIX.  FERDINAND   IN  TROUBLE 282 

XX.  MARMADUKE   AND    MARTHY    S.    MAKE    THEM 
SELVES  USEFUL 297 

XXI.  ON   CHARLES   STREET 3'3 

XXII.  ALLESTREE'S  PROPOSITION 323 

XXIII.  CONCLUSION    .                                                   337 


2137721 


ROWENY  IN  BOSTON. 


I. 

MARTHA   S.  TRYING   "TO   GIT   A   FIT." 

"  WHICH  one  of  them  Tuttle  girls  is  it  that  is 
so  sut  on  goin'  to  Borston  ?" 

"  I  should  think  you'd  know  'thout  bein'  told. 
It's  the  one  that  wears  that  soft  felt  hat  with 
scarcely  no  trimmin'  on  it  to  meet'n'." 

The  relation  between  wearing  a  scantily  dec 
orated  soft  felt  hat  and  being  "  sut  on  goin'  to 
Borston  "  seemed  very  clear  and  close  to  this 
speaker,  however  obscure  it  might  appear  to 
the  ordinary  human  being.  Mrs.  Warner's  two 
daughters  always  wore  very  stiff  hats  with  large 
quantities  of  cheap  flowers  on  them,  and  they 
had  never  announced  any  intention  of  visiting 
Boston.  Perhaps,  therefore,  their  mother  had  her 
reasons  for  coming  to  her  present  conclusion. 

"  I  want  to  know !"  exclaimed  Martha  Hancock. 


2  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

"  Then  it's  Roweny.  Wai,  she  never  was  like 
your  girls,  Mis'  Warner.  Of  course  Hiram  Tut- 
tle  can't  give  her  a  cent  to  go  with.  And  then 
the  temptations  there.  I  hope  she  won't  come 
to  no  bad  end." 

Mrs.  Warner  drew  in  her  lips  and  shook  her 
head.  She  remarked  that  she  had  been  greatly 
blessed  in  her  children,  but  that  there  was  a 
mighty  sight  in  bringing  up.  She  didn't  be 
lieve,  if  she  did  say  it  herself,  that  either  of  her 
girls  would  ever  git  a  notion  that  they  must  go 
where  their  parents  never'd  been.  Of  course  no 
one  could  tell  what  would  happen,  but  she  did 
think  that  wouldn't  happen. 

Miss  Hancock  shook  her  own  head  in  sympa 
thy.  She  was  forty-four  years  old,  and  had  never 
married.  She  always  said,  when  rallied  on  this 
fact,  that  she  had  never  been  inclined  to  matri 
mony.  She  saw  enough  of  it  in  the  lives  of  her 
married  friends.  The  apparent  acidity  of  this 
speech  was  attributed  to  the  fact  that  no  one,  so 
far  as  was  known  in  the  neighborhood,  had  ever 
desired  to  marry  Miss  Hancock. 

The  people  in  this  village  were  not  given  to  be 
lief  in  those  words  of  Thackeray's  that  any  wom 
an  may  wed  any  man,  if  she  makes  up  her  mind  to 
it.  On  the  contrary,  they  were  sure  that  all  the 
old  maids  in  the  world  were  so  from  dire  necessity. 

Miss  Hancock  was  commonly  called  "  Marthy 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  3 

S.,"  to  distinguish  her  from  another  Martha  with 
the  same  surname  who  lived  in  the  same  district. 
When  Marthy  S.  mentioned  her  vocation,  she 
said  she  "  dressmaked  "  for  such  as  wanted  her. 
She  would  usually  add  that,  though  she  made 
no  pretensions  to  being  stylish,  she  did  think 
she  could  put  a  touch  on  to  a  garment  that 
could  be  equalled  by  few. 

This  was  true,  although  in  a  different  sense 
from  what  she  meant  it.  Her  patrons,  or  her 
victims,  always  presented  the  same  trussed  ap 
pearance  across  the  chest,  and  always  suffered 
from  the  same  sense  of  restraint  in  the  elbows. 
Naturally,  those  who  had  never  had  any  other 
dress-maker,  and  these  were  many  in  this  locali 
ty,  believed  that  to  be  trussed,  and  to  be  con 
fined  at  the  elbows,  was  the  condition  of  woman 
when  she  was  "  dressed  up  " — it  was  one  of  the 
inevitable  misfortunes  of  being  born  feminine  in 
stead  of  masculine. 

Marthy  S.  took  in  The  Fashion  Delineator  and 
she  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  go  anywhere 
to  see  what  "folks  were  wearing."  She  frequent 
ly  made  up  patterns.  She  said  she  wouldn't 
give  in  to  anybody  in  the  matter  of  making  up 
patterns. 

Sometimes  she  was  asked  if  she  had  ever  been 
in  Boston.  She  always  replied  :  "  No,  but  she 
had  been  in  Providence." 


4  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

It  seemed  to  her  that  the  fact  of  her  having 
seen  the  capital  of  Rhode  Island  would  in  a  way 
establish  her  as  a  traveller,  and  would  atone  for 
her  not  being  familiar  with  Boston.  Her  Uncle 
George  had  taken  her  to  a  restaurant  in  Provi 
dence  and  they  had  each  had  an  oyster  stew. 
She  often  mentioned  this  stew  as  being  one  of 
the  most  delicious  dishes  she  had  ever  tasted. 

I  do  not  know  why  it  is,  but  the  person  who 
comes  from  the  real  country  to  a  city  always  or 
ders  an  oyster  stew  at  the  eating-house  where  he 
stops,  and  he  feels  a  certain  sense  of  exhilarating 
dissipation  when  he  eats  it,  and  when  he  pours 
in  some  of  the  table-sauce  he  has  a  sense  that 
he  is  a  cosmopolitan.  He  thinks  he  would  give 
a  great  deal  if  he  could  take  all  his  meals  at  a 
restaurant.  He  reads  with  awe  and  enjoyment 
those  curious  names  of  wines  on  the  other  side 
of  the  bill  of  fare.  But  he  is  a  Son  of  Temper 
ance. 

Mrs.  Warner  was  "  running  the  machine  "  while 
Marthy  S.  cut  and  basted.  At  intervals  there 
were  pauses  while  one  of  Mrs.  Warner's  daugh 
ters  would  be  "  fitted."  This  fitting  was  some 
times  very  tedious,  and  the  person  undergoing  it 
would  at  last  get  very  squirmy.  It  was  not 
agreeable  to  have  Miss  Hancock  standing  by 
you  with  her  mouth  full  of  pins,  pulling  you 
here  and  pulling  you  there.  She  confessed  that 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  5 

she  did  not,  at  such  times,  think  anything  about 
the  sufferings  of  her  patient.  She  only  thought 
of  "gittin'a  fit." 

The  youngest  of  Mrs.  Warner's  daughters  was 
about  sixteen.  She  was  pale  and  thin  and  nerv 
ous-looking.  She  was  considered  to  have  grown 
too  fast.  It  was  she  who  was  now  beneath  Miss 
Hancock's  hands.  At  first  she  was  very  calm 
and  patient.  She  was  acting  upon  a  firm  resolve 
she  had  made,  and  privately  communicated  to 
her  sister,  that  "  she  wouldn't  git  into  no  tan 
trums  this  time." 

But  after  a  while  she  became  fascinated  by  the 
way  Marthy  S.  put  pins  into  her  mouth.  The 
child  watched  with  ever-increasing  horror.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  no  human  mouth  could  hold 
so  many  pins,  and  still  they  went  in  and  disap 
peared  behind  those  thin  lips. 

Why  did  not  the  points  of  some  of  them  pro 
trude  through  the  dress-maker's  cheeks  ?  How 
large  was  that  mouth  inwardly,  anyway  ?  Viewed 
from  the  outside,  it  was  small,  and  nipped  in  at 
the  corners. 

Eunice  began  to  grow  faint  from  standing. 
Objects  were  vague  before  her.  She  suddenly 
grasped  Marthy  S.  around  the  waist,  leaned  upon 
her,  and  cried  out,  brokenly : 

"  Oh,  you'll  swaller  um  !  you'll  swaller  um  !" 

Miss  Hancock  made  a  gurgling,  rattling  noise, 


6  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

and  hastily  ejected  a  great  many  pins  into  the 
palm  of  her  hand.  She  had  almost  swallowed 
them  in  her  sudden  alarm  lest  Eunice  would 
faint.  She  put  the  child  down  on  a  lounge  while 
the  mother  brought  out  the  camphor. 

"You'd  made  anybody  swaller  a  rhinoceros, 
yelling  like  that,"  cried  Miss  Hancock,  in  uncon 
trollable  anger,  when  she  saw  a  tinge  of  color 
coming  to  the  girl's  face. 

Eunice  sobbed.  She  turned  her  eyes  to  her 
mother. 

"  She'd  got  in  twenty-nine,  mother,"  she  said, 
"  and  I  knew  if  she  put  in  the  thirtieth  I  couldn't 
bear  it,  'n'  she  did,"  with  another  sob,  "  she  put 
it  in." 

"  It's  none  of  our  business  if  she  puts  in  a 
bushel  of  pins,"  said  the  mother,  soothingly. 

"  But  I  tell  you  I  can't  endure  to  see  her  do 
it,"  cried  Eunice,  hysterically,  pushing  aside  the 
camphor-bottle  and  spilling  some  of  the  liquid  in 
her  eyes.  "  Rowena  Tuttle  says  that  pins  don't 
hurt  dress-makers,  even  when  they  do  swaller  um. 
And  she  didn't  think  they'd  hurt  Miss  Hancock, 
anyway." 

"  Did  she  say  that  ?  Did  Roweny  Tuttle  say 
that?"  indignantly  asked  Marthy  S. 

But  why  should  it  make  one  angry  to  be 
thought  able  to  take  pins  safely  into  the  inter 
nal  economy  ?  Particularly,  why  should  one 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  7 

whose  calling  is  that  of  a  dress -maker  be  an 
noyed  by  any  such  cause  ? 

Poor  Eunice  was  trying  to  clear  her  eyes  of 
the  camphor ;  she  was  using  her  mother's  apron 
for  that  purpose,  and  she  did  not  see  the  warn 
ing  looks  which  her  parent  directed  to  her.  She 
went  on  with  entire  recklessness : 

"Yes,  Rowena  said  so, 'n' when  I  said  I  didn't 
believe  that  pins  was  good  fur  anybody,  she  said 
your  stomach  must  be  lined  with  um,  and  when 
a  person  had  a  brass  inside,  a  few  pins  more  or 
less  wouldn't  make  no  dif 'runce." 

"  How  silly  you  do  talk,  Eunice  !"  said  Mrs. 
Warner.  "  She  don't  mean  nothin',  Marthy. 
She's  kinder  high-strickey,  she  is." 

Eunice  was  laughing  and  crying,  and  could 
not  say  whether  she  meant  anything  or  not.  The 
waist  of  her  new  blue  cashmere  was  pinned  about 
her, and  her  arms  were  bare.  She  huddled  a  shawl 
on  her  shoulders. 

"  You're  dretful  foolish  to  talk  so,"  whispered 
her  mother.  "  You  see  Marthy's  jest  's  mad  's 
she  can  be." 

But  Eunice  did  not  seem  to  repent. 

The  dress-maker  had  turned  to  the  table  where 
she  had  been  "  cutting  out."  She  lifted  the  long 
shears  which  lay  there  and  viciously  snapped 
them  in  the  air.  One  felt  sure,  from  her  action 
and  from  the  expression  of  her  face,  that  if 


8  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

Rowena  Tuttle  had  been  between  those  blades 
in  reality,  as  she  was  in  Miss  Hancock's  imagi 
nation,  Rowena  Tuttle  would  have  been  cut  in 
twain. 

Marthy  presently  bethought  herself  that  she 
was  a  professor.  She  walked  about  the  room 
with  the  shears  uplifted  in  her  hand. 

"  I  never  could  endure  that  girl,  anyway,"  she 
said,  in  a  high  voice, "  'n  I  sha'n't  like  her  any  bet 
ter  now,  you  may  be  sure,  Mis'  Warner.  What  is 
one  of  Hiram  Tuttle's  girls,  I  sh'd  like  to  know, 
more'n  other  folks?  And  she  er  stickin'  up  her 
nose  at  everybody !" 

"  She  don't  stick  up  her  nose." 

These  words  came  very  decidedly  from  the 
lounge  where  Eunice  sat.  "  She's  jest  brighter 
than  some  people,  that's  all." 

"  Eunice !" 

Mrs.  Warner  spoke  severely. 

"Let  her  go  right  on,  Mis'  Warner;  let  her 
go  right  on,"  said  Marthy  S.,  red  with  excite 
ment. 

"Well,  she  is  brighter,"  persisted  Eunice. 

Possibly  the  girl  was  taking  her  revenge  for 
the  uncomfortable  way  in  which  Miss  Hancock 
had  pinched  and  pushed  her  while  trying  to  get 
a  fit. 

Mrs.  Warner  now  informed  her  daughter  that 
whether  she  was  faint  or  not,  if  she  spoke  an- 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  9 

other  word  in  the  next  ten  minutes  she  should 
leave  the  room. 

This  threat  had  its  effect.  There  was  entire 
silence  on  the  part  of  Eunice.  Her  mother  again 
told  Miss  Hancock  that  "  it  was  only  them  chil 
dren's  silly  talk,  V  she  didn't  think  Marthy  ought 
to  take  it  so  serious." 

It  is  so  very  easy  to  be  calmly  cheerful  over 
an  annoyance  which  affects  some  one  else.  It 
may  be  that  Mrs.  Warner's  cheerfulness  irritated 
the  dress-maker.  At  any  rate  this  latter  person 
repeated  that  dreadful  motion  with  her  shears, 
and  she  remarked  in  a  shrill  voice  that  "  Mis' 
Warner  hadn't  been  told  she  had  a  brass  in 
side." 

"  Law  !"  responded  the  other,  comfortably,  "  I 
almost  wish  I  had  got  one  ;  then  mebbe  fried 
cakes  'n'  pickles  wouldn't  be  so  apt  to  hurt  me." 

She  went  on  to  say  for  the  third  time,  with 
great  seriousness,  that  she  did  think  that  Mar 
thy  was  making  a  great  deal  too  much  of  a 
few  thoughtless  words  that  "  didn't  really  mean 
nothin'." 

After  a  few  more  minutes  had  passed  the  dress 
maker  resumed  her  work.  Eunice  was  unpinned 
and  allowed  to  put  on  her  old  gray  wool  gown. 
She  was  sulky  and  did  not  attempt  to  speak,  even 
when  the  time  prescribed  for  silence  had  passed. 

Miss   Hancock's   scissors   hissed   through   the 


10  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

blue  cashmere  and  the  cambric  with  dangerous 
swiftness.  Mrs.Warner's  sewing-machine  whirred 
on  with  pauseless  industry.  The  winter  sunlight 
came  in  at  the  small -paned  windows  and  fell 
brightly  on  the  gay  braided  rugs  on  the  yellow 
floor.  The  cat  placed  herself  in  the  middle  of 
the  sunshine,  curled  her  tail  about  her  front  paws 
and  blinked  and  purred. 

Eunice  sat  for  some  time  by  one  of  the  win 
dows  and  stared  out  on  the  narrow  road,  which 
made  a  turn  here,  and  went  off  straight  up  a  long 
hill.  At  the  turn  was  a  guide-board,  and  on  the 
board  the  words  "To  Boston — 29  miles;"  there 
was  also  a  hand  with  the  stump  of  an  index  fin 
ger  pointing  up  that  hill.  That  direction  might 
have  said  290  miles  to  Boston,  and  the  idea  of 
distance  would  not  have  been  any  greater  to  the 
child  looking  at  it.  People  around  here  were 
not  in  the  habit  of  going  to  Boston.  Nothing 
called  them  there.  The  nearest  railroad  station 
was  eleven  miles  away.  It  was  true  that  there 
were  people  over  in  the  "  middle  village  "  who 
often  went  to  the  city.  But  this  hamlet  was  in 
effect  almost  as  remote  as  if  it  had  been  a  great 
deal  farther  away  from  any  large  town. 

Up  at  "the  Corners"  there  was  a  boat-shop 
where  they  built  boats,  and  from  which,  about 
once  a  week  all  the  year  round,  a  man  drove  to 
Boston  with  two  boats.  The  smaller  was  set 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  II 

into  the  larger,  they  were  fastened  on  two  pairs 
of  wheels  very  far  apart,  and  drawn  by  one  horse. 
The  driver  started  in  the  morning.  The  next 
day  he  returned,  sitting  on  a  folded  horse  blank 
et  near  the  front  wheels. 

Eunice  often  thought  this  man  must  know 
the  world  thoroughly.  She  envied  him.  Now 
as  she  sat  with  her  forehead  pressed  against  the 
glass  she  heard  the  rattling  of  wheels  coming 
down  the  long  hill.  She  knew  instantly  that 
it  was  the  rattle  of  the  boat  -  cart  on  its  way 
home.  There  was  no  snow,  the  road  was  hard 
and  almost  white ;  everything  passing  over  it  re 
sounded. 

"  There's  Reuben  Little  comin'  home,"  said 
Mrs.  Warner,  as  she  stopped  her  machine  and 
drew  out  a  long  seam  from  it.  "  It  must  be 
mighty  tedious  drivin'  so  fur  in  the  winter-time." 

"  I  guess  Reub  keeps  liquor  enough  down  to 
make  the  time  pass  tollable  well,"  responded 
Marthy  S.  "  I  should  think  his  wife  'd  hate  to 
have  him  go  to  Borston  so,  where  he  c'n  git 
liquor  so  easy." 

The  dress- maker  threaded  her  needle  before 
she  added  that  wives  had  to  put  up  with  a 
good  many  things  that  they'd  have  dif'runt  if 
they  could. 

Mrs.  Warner  said  "that  was  so"  with  more 
fervor  than  she  would  have  employed  if  she  had 


12  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

not  wished  to  propitiate  Marthy  S.  for  the  treat 
ment  she  had  received  at  the  hands  of  Eunice. 

Meantime  the  four  wheels  had  clattered  down 
the  incline,  turned  with  dangerous  shortness 
round  the  corner,  and  had  very  unexpectedly 
stopped  a  little  beyond  the  house. 

Mr.  Little  apparently  did  not  wish  to  take  the 
trouble  to  leave  his  position  among  blankets  and 
old  buffalo  robes.  He  made  a  beckoning  move 
ment  with  his  whip  towards  Eunice,  who  imme 
diately  dashed  out  of  the  side  door  and  ran  up 
to  him. 

The  man  finally  disinterred  a  brown  paper 
package  from  somewhere  near  his  feet.  He  held 
it  out  to  Eunice. 

"  Roweny  had  me  git  that  framed  in  Borston," 
he  said,  "  V  she  told  me  to  give  it  to  you  when 
I  come  by.  They  said  where  they  put  on  the 
frame  that  it  was  ruther  good  for  a  emmytoor. 
Mcbby  you  know  what  a  emmytoor  is.  I 
don't.  I  told  um  my  niece  done  it.  I  let  urn 
know  she  could  do  lots  better  'n'  that.  Clk ! 
Git  up!" 

He  swung  the  whip  around,  the  horse  started, 
the  wheels  began  to  rattle. 

Eunice  dashed  back  into  the  house  again. 
Her  mother  and  Miss  Hancock  had  been  watch 
ing  her  with  that  keen  curiosity  which  seems  in 
separable  from  a  life  among  such  surroundings. 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  13 

They  both  hung  over  Eunice  as  she  tore  the 
wrappings  from  her  parcel. 

"  I  declare  !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Warner,  in  undis 
guised  delight,  "  ain't  it  jest  as  nat'ral  as  life  ? 
'N'  there's  the  old  butternut,  'n'  I  do  believe  it's 
the  roan  cow  by  the  brook  there.  'N'  the  chim 
ney — look  at  the  chimney  !" 

In  the  speaker's  mind  it  seemed  little  short 
of  marvellous  that  a  chimney  could  be  made  so 
"life-like." 

It  was  a  water-color  sketch  of  the  old  Warner 
place.  Perhaps  it  was  crude,  perhaps  it  showed 
great  ignorance,  but  there  was  something  in  it 
that  was  able  to  hold  the  attention  for  a  mo 
ment,  something  which  might  make  one  say: 
'•  There  is  life." 

To  those  now  gazing  at  it  the  sketch  seemed 
phenomenal. 

A  gray  house  with  a  two  -  story  front,  and 
sloping  down  to  one  low  story  over  the  kitchen. 
No  projection,  no  "jet  "  at  the  eaves,  everything 
bare  and  rigid.  An  immense  chimney  with  many 
chinks  in  it ;  a  stretch  of  meadow  at  the  right 
with  a  brook  running  through  it,  and  some  cows 
standing.  Not  a  tree,  save  one  distant  butter 
nut  and  some  young  willows  by  the  stream  ;  a 
pale-blue  summer  sky  overhead. 

Eunice  breathed  a  long  breath  of  delight.  Mrs. 
Warner  was  stepping  here  and  there  to  get  new 


14  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

views  of  the  picture.  Her  face  also  was  ra 
diant. 

Marthy  S.  preserved  an  unflattering  calmness 
of  demeanor.  She  said  she  never  seen  no  sky 
but  what  was  bluer  'n  that. 

Eunice  cast  a  withering  glance  at  her,  but  did 
not  think  it  worth  while  to  speak. 

"The  grass  ain't  anywhere  nigh  green  enough," 
went  on  the  dress-maker,  feeling  her  critical  pow 
ers  expanding  with  use.  "And  I  never  noticed 
that  medder  when  there  wa'n't  more  crows  flyin' 
over  it." 

Here  she  sniffed  very  decidedly,  and  said  that 
anybody  could  make  a  picture  as  good  as  that. 

Eunice  now  lost  her  ability  to  keep  silent.  She 
looked  up  at  Marthy  S. 

"You're  talkin'  like  that,"  she  said,  with  the 
unutterable  scorn  of  youth,  "  because  Rowena 
said  that  about  pins.  I  should  be  ashamed  to 
be  so  mean  !" 

Mrs. Warner  was  still  so  pleased  with  the  sketch 
that  she  could  not  rebuke  her  daughter  as  she 
ought  to  have  done. 

Miss  Hancock  again  was  conscious  of  the 
strong  necessity  of  remembering  that  she  was  a 
professor. 

"  We'll  hang  it  up  in  the  parlor  next  to  the 
scene,"  said  Mrs.  Warner,  with  pride  ;  "  they'll 
kinder  set  each  other  off  mighty  well." 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  15 

There  was  a  large  chromo  in  the  Warner  par 
lor.  It  had  been  there  ever  since  Eunice  could 
remember.  It  consisted  of  a  pile  of  mountains 
at  the  right,  two  deep  chasms  at  the  left,  and  in 
the  middle,  very  far  away,  were  the  turrets  of  a 
massive  castle.  There  was  a  red  gloom  over  the 
whole  like  the  hue  on  the  stage  when  the  red 
lights  have  almost  died  away. 

The  name  of  this  object  was  "  A  Scene  in  Ger 
many,"  but  it  was  always  deferentially  mentioned 
in  the  family  as  "  the  scene."  The  possession  of 
it  was  felt  to  confer  a  kind  of  distinction. 

Eunice  had  a  vague  feeling  that  she  did  not 
wish  her  gift  to  be  placed  near  the  scene.  The 
only  well-defined  objection  which  she  could  urge, 
however,  was  that  if  this  sketch  were  hung  in 
the  parlor  no  one  could  ever  see  it,  for  the  par 
lor  was  always  shut  up. 

Miss  Hancock  had  gone  back  resolutely  to  her 
basting. 

The  sunlight  had  suddenly  left  the  kitchen. 
There  was  only  a  brilliant  glow  in  the  west, 
which  was  reflected  vividly  on  the  old  house  and 
over  the  now  brown  meadow. 

A  rush  of  bitter  cold  air  from  the  north-west 
came  against  the  doors  and  windows,  making 
them  rattle. 

Miss  Hancock  took  her  basting  to  the  lightest 
place;  she  glanced  out,  thinking  that  she  should 


1 6  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

have  to  borrow  an  extra  shawl  when  she  walked 
home  after  supper. 

As  she  looked  she  saw  a  figure  coming  from 
among  a  clump  of  pine-trees,  through  which  the 
road  ran  to  the  west.  It  was  the  figure  of  a 
young  girl  walking  rapidly. 

The  dress-maker's  aquiline  face  darkened  with 
irritation  as  she  gazed. 

"  If  that  ain't  her  now,"  she  exclaimed  to  her 
self.  "  I  don't  see  how  in  time  she  happens  to 
look  so  stylish,  I  declare  I  don't.  She  don't 
dress,  nohow,  but  there's  something  or  other 
about  her." 

When  the  girl  came  nearer  it  could  be  seen 
that  her  fur  cap  was  quite  worn  and  shabby, 
and  had  been  cheap  to  begin  with.  Her  coarse 
blanket  shawl  was  like  other  blanket  shawls. 
Nevertheless,  Miss  Hancock  was  perfectly  right, 
though  rather  indefinite,  when  she  said  of  this 
girl  that  "  there  was  something  or  other  about 
her." 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  If 


II. 

GOING   BY  BOAT. 

"THERE'S  Rowena  now,"  cried  Eunice  War 
ner,  as  a  dark  object  went  quickly  by  the  win 
dow. 

The  child  started  up  and  carefully  put  down 
the  sketch  she  had  been  holding. 

"  I  guess  she's  come  over  to  be  thanked,"  re 
marked  Miss  Hancock,  with  some  venom. 

Eunice  had  no  time  to  retort,  for  the  porch 
door  opened  immediately  and  Rowena  Tuttle 
entered. 

"Take  your  things  right  off,"  said  Mrs.  War 
ner,  hospitably,  "  'n'  stay  to  supper.  I  s'pose 
Georgiana's  had  to  keep  some  scholars  after 
school  or  she'd  be  here  by  this  time ;  but  'tain't 
late  neither.  It  does  git  dark  so  quick  this  sea 
son  of  the  year." 

Rowena  had  nodded  at  the  dress-maker  and 
looked  at  Eunice.  She  sat  down  and  threw  back 
her  heavy  shawl. 

"  No,  I  can't  stop  to  supper,"  she  answered. 


l8  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

"  I  was  down  here  to  Mrs.  Morris's,  and  so  I  came 
to  see  Gcorgie  a  minute." 

"  She'll  soon  be  to  home  now,"  responded  Mrs. 
Warner.  "  We've  ben  admirin'  the  picture,  Ro- 
weny.  We  set  a  lot  by  it  already." 

"  She's  goin'  to  hang  it  by  the  scene,"  said 
Eunice,  discontentedly.  "You  know  the  scene, 
don't  you,  Rowena?" 

The  girl  smiled  brilliantly. 

"Oh,  yes." 

Then  she  seemed  to  restrain  a  laugh.  She 
knew  that  the  dress-maker  was  looking  at  her, 
and  she  also  knew  that,  for  some  reason,  there 
was  malevolence  in  her  gaze. 

When  Rowena  spoke  she  uttered  her  words  in 
a  clear-cut  way  that  sometimes  seemed  almost 
incisive  in  contrast  with  the  slovenly  manner  in 
which  people  chewed  their  syllables  in  this  vil 
lage.  This  was  one  of  the  sins  which  were  laid 
at  her  door.  She  was  too  good  and  too  fine  to 
talk  like  other  folks,  "and  she  nothin' but  Hiram 
Tuttle's  daughter."  From  a  child,  however,  Ro 
wena  had  taken  to  correctness  of  speech  as  some 
boys  take  to  mischief  as  soon  as  they  can  com 
pass  it.  When  she  spoke,  even  in  the  most  cas 
ual  manner,  there  was  a  curious  thrill  in  her  voice 
which  always  made  a  stranger  turn  quickly  to  see 
who  had  spoken.  She  was  hardly  responsible  for 
this,  and  if  it  suggested  deeps,  or  heights,  or  any- 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  19 

thing  in  her  nature  out  of  the  common,  ought  she 
to  be  blamed  ? 

"  It  was  awful  good  of  you  to  give  me  that," 
said  Eunice,  with  enthusiasm. 

"  I  thought  you  might  like  a  keepsake  when 
I'm  away,"  was  the  reply. 

"So,  you're  really  goin',  be  ye?"  asked  Mrs. 
Warner,  with  some  awe  mingled  with  reproach 
in  her  speech.  It  could  not  be  right  for  a  girl 
to  leave  a  good  home  where  she  might  have  a 
chance  to  sew  straw  part  of  the  year  and  do  slop 
work  when  straw  was  dull. 

It  must  be  remembered  that  this  was  the  one 
of  Mr.  Tuttle's  daughters  who  was  "  sut  on  goin' 
to  Borston." 

"Yes,  I  am  really  going.  I  must  have  a  chance, 
Mrs. Warner  ;  I  feel  that  I  must." 

As  she  spoke,  the  girl  rose  and  walked  to  the 
window.  She  turned  there  and  looked  back  at 
the  woman  who  was  preparing  to  make  griddle- 
cakes  for  supper. 

As  she  moved  across  the  floor  one  saw  that 
it  is  not  clothes  that  make  a  person  "  stylish," 
though  clothes  are  not  to  be  despised  as  aids. 
A  woman  is  born  stylish  just  as  she  may  be  born 
with  blue  eyes.  The  attribute  may  not  be  im 
mediately  perceptible,  but  it  is  ready  to  appear 
at  the  proper  time,  if  it  be  her  birthright,  as  the 
second  teeth  come  at  the  appropriate  period. 


20  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

Rowena's  rusty  dress  hung  on  her  "with  an 
air ;"  the  shawl  slipped  off  her  shoulders  now  as 
she  stood  there  as  shawls  never  slip  from  shoul 
ders  undowered  with  that  mysterious,  elusive  gift 
which  Marthy  S.  could  recognize,  but  could  not 
achieve. 

"  I  suppose  you  think  I  am  very  wicked,  Mrs. 
Warner,"  said  Rowena.  "  I  know  your  girls  nev 
er  would  think  of  leaving  home — unless  they  were 
married." 

"I'm  terrible  afraid  you'll  git  into  temptation, 
Roweny,"  said  Mrs.  Warner,  stirring  her  cake  bat 
ter  rapidly.  "  Somehow  it  don't  seem  right." 

"  Temptation  ?"  cried  Rowena.  "  I  shall  be 
hard  at  work ;  I  shall  have  one  little  room  and 
get  my  own  meals.  I  shall  live  like  a  slave  com 
pared  with  the  way  I  live  now." 

"  Then  why  do  you  go  ?"  wonderingly  ques 
tioned  her  hostess.  "  But  I  s'pose  you  expect 
to  make  a  lot  of  money.  Now  for  a  picture 
like  that  you  give  Eunice  I  shouldn't  wonder  if 
you'd  git  as  much  as  a  dollar,  or  a  dollar  'n'  a 
quarter,  shouldn't  you  ?" 

"  It's  more  likely  I  shouldn't  get  a  cent,"  re 
plied  Rowena.  "But  I've  got  to  make  money, 
somehow.  It's  all  father  can  do  to  let  me  have 
what  I've  been  earning  this  last  year." 

"  I  should  think,"  remarked  Miss  Hancock, 
now  folding  her  work  with  remarkably  quick 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  21 

motions, "  I  should  think  that  a  good  principled 
girl  'd  stay  to  home,  if  she  had  a  home.  Women 
that  go  gallivantin'  round  hither  and  yon  ain't 
thought  much  of  by  folks  that  keep  where  they 
should.  'Tain't  gen'rally  liked  here  that  you 
should  leave  your  father  'n'  mother 'n'  brother  'n' 
sisters,  Roweny.  I  speak  as  a  friend.  It  seems 
my  duty  to  say  what  is  gen'rally  thought." 

Rowena  looked  for  an  instant  in  silence  at  the 
dress-maker;  a  scarlet  flush  rose  to  her  face  as 
she  did  so. 

"  I  wonder  why  it  is  that  when  folks  speak  as 
a  friend  they  are  always  so  horribly  disagreea 
ble,"  she  said. 

"  The  truth  ain't  always  pleasant,  Roweny," 
responded  Marthy  S.,  feeling  an  inspiring  sense 
of  having  performed  a  duty. 

She  had  intended  for  a  long  time  to  tell  this 
girl  what  folks  thought.  She  now  felt  better  nat- 
ured.  She  advanced  from  the  window  and  in 
quired  if  Rowena  had  a  pattern  of  that  skirt,  or 
did  she  git  it  out  of  The  Delineator.  She  was  told 
that  she  had  no  pattern,  and  it  did  not  come  out 
of  The  Delineator. 

"  It  ain't  just  right ;  there's  too  much  of  a  fall 
to  the  back,  but  still — "  began  the  dress-maker. 

Here  the  porch  door  again  opened,  and  a  short, 
thick-set  girl  came  in  impetuously  and  rushed 
across  the  room  at  Rowena,  exclaiming  : 


22  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

"  I  was  'most  sure  that  was  you  I  saw  through 
the  winder.  Now  you've  got  to  stay  to  supper, 
'n'  Eunice  'n'  I'll  walk  home  with  you." 

This  was  Georgiana  Warner,  who  taught  school 
in  the  north  district.  She  brought  in  a  great 
whiff  of  fresh,  keen  air  with  her.  She  laid  vio 
lent  hands  on  Rowena,  and  carried  off  that  per 
son's  "  things  "  into  the  bedroom,  Mrs.  Warner 
looking  on  admiringly  the  while.  Everything 
Georgie  did  was  admirable  in  her  mother's  eyes. 
What  other  girl  of  her  age  had  earned  a  "  cham 
ber  set?"  Who  but  Georgie  could  have  com 
bined  a  herring-bone  pattern  with  something 
else  as  indescribable  as  it  was  lovely,  and  have 
introduced  the  combination  into  a  bed-quilt? 

The  three  girls  clustered  round  the  lamp-stand, 
leaving  space  for  Marthy  S.  to  continue  to  baste 
at  one  side  of  it. 

"  Seems  to  me  you're  dreadful  sober,"  at  last 
said  Georgie,  after  the  sketch  had  been  volubly 
commented  on. 

In  truth  Rowena  felt  an  odd  tightness  about 
her  throat  as  she  looked  around  the  familiar  room 
and  listened  to  the  familiar  voices. 

"  I  don't  know  when  I  sh'll  be  here  again,"  she 
said,  huskily. 

"  But  you  ain't  goin'  'fore  next  week,"  hastily 
exclaimed  Eunice. 

"  Uncle  Reuben  goes  Monday  with  the  boats. 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  23 

I'm  going  with  him  to  save  money.  I  shall  be 
too  busy  to  come  here  again." 

Afterwards  Miss  Hancock  felt  constrained  to 
say  that  Roweny  Tuttle  "  did  show  some  signs 
of  feelin'  about  leavin'  them  Warner  girls  that 
night.  Whatever  end  Roweny  might  come  to, 
she  certainly  did  show  feelin'  that  night." 

The  snow  was  slow  in  coming  this  winter. 
The  roads  were  still  bare  and  hard  on  that  day 
when  Rowena  came  out  of  the  door  of  her  home 
as  she  heard  her  uncle  Reuben's  cart  rumbling 
along  the  stretch  of  level  ground  from  the 
west. 

At  this  moment  she  almost  wished  she  had 
never  "  sut  out  "  in  this  way. 

The  cart  stopped.  Dimly  she  saw  her  father 
and  uncle  tugging  and  straining  to  get  her  trunk 
into  the  smaller  boat,  which  was  set  down  in  the 
larger. 

Her  mother  and  two  younger  sisters  were  clus 
tered  about  her. 

"  Don't  go  out  yet,  Roweny,  you'll  only  git 
chilled  'fore  you  start,"  said  Mrs.  Tuttle,  her  lips 
quivering  as  she  spoke.  "  It'll  take  urn  some 
time  to  h'ist  that  trunk  in.  You  might's  well 
se'  down.  Put  your  feet  right  on  that  stick  of 
wood  in  the  oven  'n'  keep  um  warm.  I'll  be 
wrappin'  up  the  soapstonc." 

Rowena  sat  down  as  she  was  bidden  and  put 


24  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

her  feet,  with  "rubbers"  over  her  boots,  in  the 
edge  of  the  oven  of  the  cook-stove. 

She  could  not  speak.  She  had  never  felt  so 
utterly  miserable  in  her  life.  She  hated  Boston. 
She  was  no  longer  interested  to  know  how  the 
city  looked.  She  did  not  know,  after  all,  as  she 
could  ever  learn  to  be  even  the  most  ordinary 
art  student.  It  seemed  utterly  preposterous  now 
that  she  had  ever  thought  of  trying  to  study  art. 
She  could  not  do  it. 

She  was  struggling  against  a  powerful  desire 
to  turn  and  fling  herself  in  her  mother's  arms 
and  declare  that  she  could  not  leave  her.  Her 
ears  heard  dully  her  mother's  voice  saying : 

"  You  know  I've  put  the  plum-cake  'n'  the  corn' 
beef  'n'  the  bread  in  the  right-hand  top  of  your 
trunk.  I  wouldn't  resk  puttin'  in  no  pies  nor  no 
preserves,  though  I  did  want  to,  you're  so  fond 
of  um.  Your  father's  put  the  lamp  kerosene  stove 
in  a  separate  box.  Don't  forgit  to  have  Reuben 
leave  it  where  you  stop.  You'll  want  it  to  boil 
your  coffee  and  eggs,  'n'  do  whatever  you  can  do. 
I  s'pose  you'll  have  to  live  mighty  close.  You 
know  we  sh'll  send  in  victuals  'most  every  week 
by  Reuben. 

Mrs.  Tuttlc  kept  talking  on  as  if  she  were  afraid 
to  stop.  The  sound  of  the  commonplace  words 
helped  her  not  to  break  down  entirely. 

When  she  had  wrapped  up  the  hot  soapstone 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  25 

in  an  old  newspaper  that  steamed  about  the  stone, 
she  came  and  stood  by  her  daughter's  chair. 

Rowena  pulled  off  her  mitten,  put  her  hand 
out,  and  took  her  mother's  hand  in  a  close  clasp. 
She  could  not  help  sobbing  a  little  as  she  did  so. 

"  Don't,  Roweny,"  whispered  the  mother,  trem 
bling. 

"  No,  no,  I  won't.  And  Boston  isn't  so  far  but 
I  can  come  back  any  day." 

"Arty  day.     And  be  dearly  welcome." 

Now  Mrs.Tuttle  sobbed.  Rowena  pressed  her 
cheek  against  the  rough  hand. 

"  Mother,  if  you  cry  I  shall  feel  like  killing  my 
self,"  she  said,  almost  violently. 

"  Sho,  now!  How  foolish  we  be!"  responded 
the  mother,  immediately  swallowing  her  tears. 

One  of  the  girls  had  gone  to  the  window,  and 
from  that  position  she  now  announced  that "  Fa 
ther  had  got  a  ladder,  'n'  they  were  tryin'  to  shove 
the  trunk  up  on  that.  But  it  kep'  a-slippin'  back." 

"  I  hope  I  sha'n't  keep  slipping  back,"  remarked 
Rowena,  with  a  hysterical  laugh. 

Mrs.  Tuttle  laughed  too,  even  more  hysterical 
ly.  She  said  she  hoped  they  wouldn't  hender 
Reuben  too  long.  She  was  thankful  the  wind 
was  in  the  north-west,  and  so  Roweny  wouldn't 
have  to  face  it. 

The  girl  rose  and  walked  about  the  room.  She 
looked  at  everything  in  it  as  if  she  should  never 


26  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

be  there  again.  But  she  did  not  dare  to  look  at 
her  mother's  face. 

"  There  !  The  trunk  has  tumbled  in,"  cried  the 
observer  at  the  window. 

"  All  ashore  that's  goin'  ashore !"  shouted  Un 
cle  Reuben's  jolly  voice. 

Rowena  hurriedly  kissed  her  sisters,  held  her 
mother  fast  a  moment,  and  heard  the  tremulous 
words : 

"  I  know  you'll  keep  straight,  Roweny.  'N' 
don't  forgit  us." 

She  ran  down  the  path.  Her  father  held  the 
ladder  in  place,  and  she  climbed  up  and  stepped 
over  into  the  boat.  There  were  a  great  many 
blankets  and  shawls  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat. 
Mrs.  Tuttle  came  out  with  the  hot  soapstone, 
which  was  carefully  placed  at  the  girl's  feet  by 
her  father,  who  had  come  aboard  with  her. 

He  also  said :  "  I'm  sure  you'll  keep  straight. 
P'raps  the  Tuttles  ain't  no  great  for  layin'  up,  but 
they  ain't  crooked.  Good-bye." 

He  went  down  the  ladder  and  then  set  it  care 
fully  against  the  fence. 

All  the  Tuttles  were  in  the  yard.  They  waved 
their  hands. 

Uncle  Reuben  said  "  it  wa'n't  nothin'  to  go  to 
Borston.  Clk  !  Git  up  !" 

In  another  moment  the  cart  had  gone  round 
a  curve.  The  Tuttles  ran  into  the  house.  How 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  27 

the  wind  swept  about !  How  the  dust  blew  over 
the  frozen  road ! 

There  was  a  slight  gray  film  rising  in  the  north 
and  west. 

Mr.  Tuttle  stood  a  good  while  by  the  kitchen 
stove  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets.  He  was  a 
thin  man  with  a  stoop  in  his  shoulders,  a  long 
face,  with  a  great  development  on  his  head  of 
the  bump  that  is  called  benevolence. 

He  would  have  been  rather  "beforehanded  "if 
he  had  not  twice  "  signed  "  for  friends  who  were 
sure  they  could  pay  long  before  the  notes  were 
due.  But  they  did  not  pay,  and  Mr.  Tuttle  had 
to  raise  the  money  each  time. 

His  wife  had  made  him  pledge  himself  never 
to  sign  again.  He  was  now  out  of  the  debts  so 
incurred,  but  he  was  no  longer  a  young  man. 

At  last  he  said  that  if  the  wind  got  into  the 
east  he  guessed  there'd  be  a  tough  snow-storm, 
by  the  way  the  sky  looked. 

He  walked  out  towards  the  barn.  His  wife, 
watching  him,  thought  he  was  more  bent  than 
usual. 

"  He  always  did  think  everything  of  Roweny," 
she  whispered.  Then  she  hurried  about  the 
house-work  which  had  been  "left  standing."  She 
was  glad  there  was  so  much  to  do.  She  hus 
tled  the  girls  off  to  school,  for  it  was  not  yet 
nine  o'clock. 


28  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

When  the  boats  passed  the  Warner  place  all 
the  family  came  to  the  door.  Rovvena  stood  up 
and  flung  out  her  hand.  She  saw  that  Georgie 
was  crying. 

Uncle  Reuben  repeated  his  remark  that  "  it 
wa'n't  nothin'  to  go  to  Borston." 

After  that  Rowena  wrapped  herself  heavily, 
and  gave  herself  up  to  her  thoughts.  They  were 
not  quite  so  dismal,  now  the  wrench  of  parting 
was  over.  She  began  to  see  the  road-sides  and 
the  distant  pastures.  She  thought  the  differ 
ent  hues  of  brown  were  charming.  She  began 
to  compound  in  her  mind  the  colors  she  would 
use  in  sketching  that  far-away  hill,  where  the 
stunted  savins  now  looked  blue-black  in  the  cold 
air. 

All  at  once  she  became  aware  that  Uncle 
Reuben  was  pulling  in  his  horse  and  saying, 
"  Whoa !" 

An  open  wagon  was  driven  alongside,  and  a 
young  man  sprang  out  of  it.  In  some  way  he 
managed  to  get  into  the  boat  with  two  or  three 
agile  movements. 

"You'd  better  remember  that  these  horses 
won't  bear  much  courtin' this  weather,"  said  Un 
cle  Reuben,  slapping  his  hands  against  his  chest. 

Now  he  was  in  the  boat  with  Rowena,  the 
young  man  apparently  had  nothing  to  say.  He 
stammered,  and  was  very  red. 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  29 

"  I  wanted  to  say  good-bye,"  he  at  last  began. 
"I  think  it  was  kinder  mean  not  to  let  me  say 
good-bye." 

"  I  am  not  hindering  you,"  responded  Ro- 
wena. 

Uncle  Reuben  chuckled.  The  young  man, 
whose  name  was  Barrett,  felt  it  was  very  hard 
to  have  old  Little  sitting  there  listening.  He 
had  a  clear  vision  of  Little  in  the  store  the  next 
evening  telling  every  particular  of  this  interview, 
with  dreadful  embellishments. 

Philip  Barrett  took  a  good  grip  of  his  resolu 
tion,  and  turning  his  back  on  the  place  where 
the  driver  sat,  he  murmured,  in  a  pleading  voice, 

"  I  do  wish  you'd  write  to  me,  Roweny." 

"  I  shall  be  so  very  busy,"  was  the  reply,  in  the 
same  murmur. 

"  But  think  how  lonesome  I  sh'll  be !  I  tell 
you  I  can't  stan'  it,  Roweny." 

Barrett  reached  down  and  seized  the  thick 
mittens  that  contained  the  girl's  hands. 

At  that  moment  his  horse,  left  alone,  began 
to  walk  forward,  and  its  owner  was  obliged  to 
straighten  himself  and  cry  out : 

"Whoa!     Hold  still,  can't  ye?" 

He  saw  that  Rowena  was  smiling  when  he 
turned  to  her  again.  He  grew  more  red. 

"  'Tain't  no  laughin'  matter  with  me,  I  c'n  tell 
you,"  he  cried,  indignantly.  "  I  jest  as  lives  hang 


30  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

myself  if  you  don't  write.  Stop,  you  old  brute, 
you  !  Little,  do  git  down  V  stop  that  boss !" 

"  I'm  too  stiff  in  the  joints  to  keep  climbin'  in 
'n'  out  er  this  rig,"  was  the  response. 

"  Oh,  I'll  write,"  hastily  said  Rowena. 

Barrett  squeezed  the  mittens  hard  for  an  in 
stant.  Then  he  scrambled  down  somehow  and 
ran  headlong  after  his  horse,  which  was  now  trot 
ting  along  the  road. 

Mr.  Little  looked  over  his  shoulder  at  his  pas 
senger.  He  told  her  it  must  be  a  great  thing  to 
be  a  girl  'n'  have  beaus ;  but  she  did  not  reply. 

Finally  the  long  stretches  of  country  were  left 
behind.  There  were  large  villages  now.  Rowe 
na  looked  at  them  eagerly.  Then  tall  buildings, 
the  gilded  dome  of  the  State-house,  spires,  chim 
neys  were  in  sight.  But  it  was  a  long  time  then 
before  they  reached  the  pavements.  The  film 
over  the  sky  had  increased.  Some  flakes  of  snow 
were  falling  when  the  boat-cart  turned  into  At 
lantic  Avenue,  where  the  load  was  to  be  deliv 
ered. 

Rowena  never  knew  how  she  got  down.  She 
had  not  known  a  city  was  like  that.  A  "  thick- 
settled  place  "  she  had  expected,  but  not  this  rat 
tle  and  turmoil. 

She  had  a  glimpse  of  ships  and  the  water  in 
the  harbor  when  she  rose  to  her  feet  in  the  boat. 

There  was  some  joking  among  the  men  where 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  31 

they  stopped  about  the  passenger  old  Little  had 
brought. 

She  walked  with  her  uncle  to  a  melancholy- 
looking  house  on  Hudson  Street.  This  was  where 
he  took  his  meals  while  he  was  in  Boston.  He 
bought  so  many  tickets  for  three  dollars,  he  ex 
plained  to  her,  and  he  used  these  tickets  for  his 
meals.  The  woman  who  kept  this  house  would  let 
Rowena  a  room.  This  woman  came  to  the  two  as 
they  waited  in  a  dark  parlor,  which  was  supposed 
to  be  heated  through  a  register.  This  register 
apparently  opened  into  a  boiler  wherein  cabbage 
was  cooking  in  some  underground  regions. 

Mrs.  Jarvis  nodded  at  Rowena.  She  asked  her 
if  she  had  ever  been  in  Borston  before,  and  when 
the  girl  said  "  No,"  she  said,  "Indeed,"  and  look 
ed  at  her  in  pitying  surprise. 

Mrs.  Jarvis  was  a  very  spare  woman  with  a 
narrow  forehead,  and  gray  hair  rolled  up  in  that 
fashion  sometimes  called  "  pompadour."  This 
roll  appeared  to  increase  the  length  of  her  face 
by  a  great  deal  more  than  the  height  of  the  roll 
itself.  When  Rowena  first  looked  at  her  she  had 
a  bewildered  idea  that  at  least  a  third  of  Mrs. 
Jarvis's  height  consisted  of  face  and  hair. 

Mr.  Little  explained  that  this  was  the  girl  who 
wanted  that  room.  Mrs.  Jarvis  said  "  Certainly," 
and  went  and  said  something  down  a  spout  which 
obviously  led  into  the  kitchen.  This  spout,  so 


32  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

Rowena  thought,  must  also  act  as  a  conductor 
of  cabbage  odor,  for  even  a  register  going  at  its 
full  capacity  could  not  bring  up  so  strong  a  fra 
grance.  Mrs.  Jarvis  returned  to  the  parlor,  but 
had  a  preoccupied  air,  as  if  waiting  to  hear  from 
the  spout. 

She  remarked  to  Rowena  that  she  would  find 
Borston  very  pleasant.  She  appeared  to  be  about 
to  say  something  more  when  a  hollow  sound  was 
heard  in  the  spout,  and  the  lady  immediately  told 
Rowena  that,  as  the  servants  were  all  busy,  she 
herself  would  show  her  the  room. 

Mr.  Little,  who  was  somewhat  subdued,  said 
he  guessed  he'd  go  down  and  take  his  grub,  and 
he  disappeared  in  a  place  even  darker  than  the 
parlor  and  hall  were,  and  which  Rowena  after 
wards  learned  was  the  stair-way  leading  to  the 
dining-room  and  kitchen. 

Rowena  followed  her  hostess  up  four  flights, 
and  was  then  shown  into  a  little  room  with  a 
very  small  cylinder  stove  with  no  fire  in  it. 

"  Shall  you  require  fuel?"  asked  Mrs.  Jarvis. 

Rowena  felt  very  miserable  and  helpless.  She 
said  feebly  that  she  would  need  a  fire.  She  could 
hardly  speak. 

"Fuel  will  be  extry,"  said  Mrs.  Jarvis,  "though 
some  lets  their  room  doors  remain  open  dooring 
the  day,  and  has  heat  from  the  halls." 

Rowena  had  not  noticed  that  there  was  much 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  33 

heat  in  the  halls,  save  what  would  unavoidably 
come  in  the  warm  cabbage  vapor. 

It  was  at  last  settled  that  a  servant  should 
come  immediately  and  make  a  fire. 

Mrs.  Jarvis  turned  to  go,  but  she  came  back  to 
ask: 

"  Shall  you  require  meals?" 

"No." 

"You  will  do  light  house-keeping?" 

Rowena  did  not  know  just  what  light  house 
keeping  was,  but  she  said  she  thought  she  should 
do  it.  Mrs.  Jarvis  said  again  that  she  believed 
Rowena  would  find  Borston  very  pleasant.  Then 
she  went  out  into  the  hall.  The  girl  sat  down  on 
the  bed,  and  said  aloud  that  she  would  go  home 
with  Uncle  Reuben  the  next  day. 

She  was  very  hungry  and  very  cold,  and  with 
all  her  emotions  there  was  mingled  a  delirious 
desire  to  demolish  that  pompadour  roll  on  the 
top  of  Mrs.  Jarvis's  head. 

At  last  the  fire  was  made,  her  room  was  warm, 
and  she  had  eaten  some  bread  and  corned  beef 
from  her  trunk.  There  must  be  something  stim 
ulating  in  corned  beef,  for  Rowena  now  felt  that 
she  could  better  combat  her  inclination  to  re 
treat. 
3 


34  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 


III. 

INVITED   TO   A   SEA-ANTS. 

ON  the  morning  after  her  arrival  at  that  house 
in  Hudson  Street,  Rowena  rose  long  before  it  was 
light.  She  felt  that  if  she  should  fail  of  seeing 
her  Uncle  Reuben  when  he  came  for  his  break 
fast  she  should  die. 

The  fire  had  long  since  gone  out  in  her  stove. 
It  seemed  miles  away,  in  an  undiscovered  and 
dreadful  country,  that  the  supply  of  kindling  and 
coal  probably  was  kept. 

She  did  not  dare  to  turn  on  the  gas  lest  some 
thing  should  explode.  She  knew  that  there  was 
nothing  gas  liked  so  well  as  exploding.  She 
would  get  a  small  kerosene  lamp  that  very  day. 
When  kerosene  exploded  she  knew  where  she 
was,  or  thought  she  did,  which  was  equally  com 
forting. 

She  dressed  herself  in  the  semi-darkness.  With 
a  shawl  wrapped  about  her  she  went  out  into  the 
narrow,  musty  hall  and  leaned  over,  listening.  An 
Irish  servant  girl  came  out  of  the  room  opposite 
and  brushed  indifferently  by  her.  Rowena  wished 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  35 

she  dared  to  ask  if  she  might  come  down  and  get 
some  wood  and  coal,  but  the  girl  went  clumping 
along  flight  after  flight,  and  Rowena  could  not 
speak.  The  house  was  as  mysterious  to  her  as 
any  Radcliffe  Castle.  Once,  when  some  door  was 
slammed  open  far  down  in  the  abyss,  she  heard  a 
frightful  sound,  and  did  not  know  that  it  was  the 
milkman's  call.  She  wondered  if  she  should  al 
ways  be  trying  not  to  cry. 

Presently  there  were  more  steps  somewhere  in 
the  halls.  She  heard  Mrs.  Jarvis's  voice  asking 
somebody  where  "  them  tickets  were,"  and  then 
inquiring  if  "  the  reg'lars  had  begun  to  come  in 
yet."  She  could  not  hear  the  replies.  She  told 
herself  that  her  Uncle  Reuben  must  be  more  of 
a  reg'lar  than  otherwise,  since  he  was  there  at 
certain  times.  The  cabbage  odor  of  the  day  be 
fore  had  become  stagnant  now,  and  the  active 
perfume  was  that  of  frying  liver  and  bacon,  with 
something  that  was  probably  called  coffee.  Ro 
wena  did  not  care  whether  she  ever  ate  or  not. 
She  had  no  oil  for  her  little  lamp-stove,  and  no 
coal.  She  could  not  imagine  when  she  should  have 
any  breakfast.  But  she  could  not  swallow  food. 

She  knew  that  she  must  go  down  to  the  ground 
floor  if  she  expected  to  see  her  uncle.  He  was 
part  of  her  home. 

"  My  darling  home,"  she  said,  in  a  whisper,  and 
twisted  her  hands  in  her  shawl. 


36'  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

What  if  Reuben  Little  had  eaten  already  and 
gone? 

She  started  hastily,  but  she  was  obliged  to  go 
slowly,  it  was  so  dark,  and  she  was  sure  there 
were  rents  in  the  stair  carpets.  As  she  went 
on  the  smell  of  bacon  became  stronger  and  the 
sounds  of  dishes  rattling  louder.  And  this  was 
Boston  ! 

At  last  she  finished  her  cautious  descent  and 
stood  in  the  hall  into  which  the  street  door  was 
opening  constantly  to  admit  what  she  supposed 
to  be  the  reg'lars.  Each  deposited  a  ticket  with 
Mrs.  Jarvis,  who  sat  at  a  small  table  in  the  open 
door-way  into  the  parlor.  Nearly  all  of  this  lady's 
patrons  were  of  those  who  are  obliged  to  be  at 
their  work  at  seven  o'clock. 

There  was  the  most  reduced  flame  of  gas  going 
at  the  mouth  of  the  one  burner  which  stood  out 
from  the  wall  high  up  towards  the  dingy  ceiling. 
This  blue  flame  revealed  the  fact  that  every  one 
who  came  in  was  covered  with  snow.  Few  had 
umbrellas.  There  was  a  hasty  stamping  of  feet, 
a  flinging  down  of  hats,  a  delivery  of  tickets,  and 
then  a  rush  down  the  stairs  into  the  basement. 

It  seemed  to  Rowena  as  she  stood  there  shrink- 
ingly  that  nearly  all  of  these  were  girls.  Where 
did  they  all  come  from  ?  What  were  they  doing? 
As  they  went  by  her  each  gave  her  one  swift,  cold 
glance. 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  37 

Mrs.  Jarvis  was  constantly  saying  "good-morn 
ing  "  in  a  dry,  impersonal  tone.  She  kept  her 
tickets  in  piles.  She  wore  a  wadded,  loose  morn 
ing-gown.  It  was-so  much  wadded,  and  had  such 
a  large  pattern  of  palm -leaves  on  it,  together 
with  a  hitherto  unclassified  tropical  fruit,  that  the 
wearer  looked  very  much  as  if  she  had  wrapped 
her  bed-comforter  about  her.  The  pompadour 
roll  on  the  top  of  her  head  was  so  exactly  as  it 
was  the  night  before  that  Rovvena,  gazing  tremu 
lously  at  it,  felt  almost  sure  that  it  must  have 
been  taken  off  and  put  in  a  box  before  its  owner 
retired. 

In  a  lull  in  the  arrivals  Mrs.  Jarvis  leaned  back 
wearily  in  her  chair,  and  her  wandering  glance 
rested  upon  Rovvena.  She  said  "  good-morning  " 
again,  this  time  with  a  slight  show  of  interest. 
The  girl  hurriedly  advanced. 

"  Do  you  know  whether  my  uncle,  Mr.  Little, 
has  come  in  yet  ?"  she  asked,  quickly.  • 

"  I  don't  think  so  ;  good-morning,  Miss  Chute," 
as  a  pallid  girl  in  a  long,  straight  "  gossamer  '  de 
posited  her  ticket,  and  then  almost  ran  down  the 
stairs. 

"  I  hope  I  haven't  missed  him,"  said  Rowena, 
in  a  low,  strained  voice. 

"I  presume  not;  I  presume  he  will  soon  be 
here.  Did  you  sleep  well,  Miss — Miss — 

"Tuttle,"  said  Rowena,  feebly. 


38  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

But  Mrs.  Jarvis  did  not  hear  her.  Somebody 
had  come  to  buy  a  package  of  twenty-five  tick 
ets  for  three  dollars.  This  person  was  a  stout 
young  man,  with  an  ulster  so  long  that  it  drag 
gled  about  his  heels.  Rowena  had  stepped  into 
the  parlor  and  was  standing  directly  behind  Mrs. 
Jarvis,  leaning  over  that  lady's  chair  and  watch 
ing  the  door  eagerly. 

She  did  not  see  the  young  man.  But  he  watch 
ed  her  quite  intently.  As  he  put  the  tickets  into 
his  pocket  she  uttered  a  cry  and  rushed  out  into 
the  hall  again. 

"Holloa,  Rovveny!"  cried  Uncle  Reuben, 
stamping  his  feet  briskly.  "  Bright  'n'  early,  ain't 
ye?  Grand  snow-storm.  Guess  Phil  Barrett  '11 
wish  you  could  try  his  sleigh.  If  this  keeps  up 
I  sh'll  have  to  go  back  on  runners.  Of  course, 
you  ain't  got  to  goin'  yet.  Come  down  to  break 
fast  with  me.  I've  got  lots  of  tickets.  I  ain't  in 
any  hurry.  How  do  you  like  Borston?" 

Rowena  caught  the  man's  hand  and  held  it 
fast. 

"  I  hate  Boston,"  she  answered,  with  subdued 
violence. 

"That's  'cause  you  ain't  got  to  runnin'  yet. 
You'll  think  dif'runt  in  a  day  or  two." 

Uncle  Reuben  spoke  so  comfortably  that  the 
girl  felt  calmed.  She  went  down-stairs  with  him. 
By  this  time  the  outward  flow  had  set  in ;  but 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  39 

people  were  constantly  filling  up  the  empty 
places.  Rowena  did  not  see  a  single  face ;  there 
was  for  her  only  a  confused  nightmare-like  med 
ley  of  human  beings,  a  good  deal  of  heavy,  much- 
chipped  white  crockery,  a  lavish  provision  of 
food  and  drink,  some  talking  and  laughing,  two 
black-haired  Irish  girls  running  back  and  forth 
between  kitchen  and  dining-room,  bearing  plates 
and  cups  and  saucers. 

Mr.  Reuben  Little  felt  that  he  was  doing  the 
honors  of  Boston.  He  conversed  affably  with  the 
stout  young  man  opposite,  who  had  taken  off  his 
voluminous  ulster,  and  now  revealed  a  large,  pale- 
pink  necktie  that  bulged  out  a  great  deal  in  front, 
and  threatened  to  retain  a  number  of  crumbs  of 
bread  and  potato  and  some  drops  of  coffee.  It 
did  not  have  the  least  effect  on  the  pink  neck 
tie  that  its  wearer  was  constantly  trying  to  thrust 
back  into  a  more  retiring  position.  Rowena  did 
not  know  that  this  person  was  talking  at  her, 
though  he  never  addressed  her.  But  all  the  oth 
er  girls  at  the  table  knew  it,  and  most  of  them 
thought  she  was  a  bold  piece  to  allow  it.  When 
she  walked  away  they  looked  at  her.  The  young 
man  hurried  up-stairs  after  her.  He  opened  the 
front  door  with  his  ulster  on  his  arm.  Then  he 
lingered.  The  clouds  were  breaking  away.  The 
sun  was  beginning  to  shine. 

Reuben  Little  would  not,  after  all,  be  delayed 


40  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

by  the  storm.  He  said  good-bye  to  his  niece. 
He  wondered  why  she  clung  to  him  so,  and  what 
made  her  so  pale ;  but  he  concluded  it  was  be 
cause  she  hadn't  got  to  runnin*  yet. 

Mrs.  Jarvis,  still  at  her  ticket -table,  saw  the 
parting.  She  told  Rowena  to  come  right  into 
the  parlor  a  minute  and  stand  by  the  register. 
She  spoke  as  if  standing  by  the  register  would 
be  very  comforting.  So  Rowena  did  as  she  was 
bidden.  She  crouched  by  the  iron  lattice,  and 
felt  that  her  misery  was  greater  than  she  could 
bear. 

After  a  time  Mrs.  Jarvis  beckoned  to  her.  Ro 
wena  went  to  the  woman's  side  and  began  to 
look  at  the  pompadour  roll,  succumbing  more 
and  more  to  the  strange  fascination  it  had  for 
her. 

"You'll  soon  be  cheerful,"  said  Mrs.  Jarvis, 
feeling  her  rather  dried-up  heart  going  out  some 
what  towards  this  girl.  "Of  course,  I'm  always 
busy,  but  if  I  have  a  minute  I  will  try  to  make 
Borston  agreeable.  I  think  you'll  find  Borston 
very  pleasant.  It  is  a  privilege  to  live  here. 

Rowena  tried  not  to  groan.  She  said  "  thank 
you,"  and  was  moving  towards  the  stairs,  think 
ing  she  would  go  up  to  her  cold  room  and  cry 
the  rest  of  the  day. 

"Stop  a  minute,  Miss — Miss — 

"Tuttlc,"  again  said    Rowena,  and  again  her 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  41 

hostess  did  not  hear  her,  for  she  went  back  to 
her  table  to  take  two  tickets  from  two  girls  who 
were  laughing  so  that  they  seemed  to  fall  down 
into  the  lower  hall. 

"  I  was  going  to  say,"  went  on  Mrs.  Jarvis,  re 
turning,  "  that  it  would  probably  do  you  good  to 
come  into  the  parlor  here  this  evening.  We  are 
going  to  have  a  sea-ants." 

Rowena  looked  and  felt  bewildered.  But  she 
was  thankful  to  know  that  Mrs.  Jarvis  meant  to 
be  kind. 

"  Madame  Van  Benthuysen  will  be  present," 
said  Mrs.  Jarvis,  with  great  unction.  "  Of  course 
you  have  heard  of  Madame  Van  Benthuysen?" 

"  No,  ma'am,"  said  Rowena,  conscious  of  a  de 
praving  ignorance. 

Mrs.  Jarvis  looked  at  her  pityingly.  The  roll 
of  hair  even  had  a  commiserating  aspect. 

"  Madame  makes  it  her  home  in  Borston," 
went  on  Mrs.  Jarvis.  "  She  resides  in  Harrison 
Avenoo.  She  says  the  mental  atmosphere  of 
this  city  is  more  congenial  than  the  mental  at 
mosphere  of  any  other  place.  She  sometimes 
speaks  of  it  as  soulful.  I  do  not  suppose  there 
is  a  human  being  on  the  face  of  the  globe  as  sen 
sitive  to  mental  atmospheres  as  Madame  Van 
Benthuysen." 

Rowena  stood  in  silence.  She  was  greatly  per 
plexed.  She  wished,  confusedly,  that  if  the  air 


42  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

here  were  soulful  she  might  have  a  realizing  sense 
of  it.  She  had  not  thought  of  the  air  as  being 
in  the  least  like  that.  But  perhaps  it  was  differ 
ent  in  Harrison  Avenue. 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  have  you  present  this  even 
ing  at  about  eight,"  resumed  Mrs.  Jarvis.  "We 
expect  the  sea-ants  to  be  peculiarly  interesting. 
Madame  gave  me  to  understand  that  she  was  al 
most  sure  that  her  first  husband,  Major  Stanger, 
who  was  killed  in  the  battle  of  Bull  Run,  would 
be  with  us." 

Mrs.  Jarvis  made  this  ghastly  announcement 
with  the  utmost  satisfaction  of  manner.  Rowenu 
felt  her  hair  rising.  How  could  she  be  present  ? 
And  yet  it  seemed  ungracious  to  refuse.  She 
wished  Major  Stanger  would  not  appear.  It  was 
possible  that  an  engagement  in  heaven  or  hell, 
or  in  some  intermediate  sphere,  would  keep  him 
away.  Still,  the  girl  knew  she  must  come  ex 
pecting  to  meet  the  major. 

It  was  only  in  the  vaguest  and  slightest  way 
that  Rowena  had  ever  heard  of  Spiritualism,  and 
she  knew  nothing  of  any  of  the  terms  used  by 
its  followers. 

"  Have  you  ever  attended  a  sea-ants?"  inquired 
Mrs.  Jarvis. 

"  No,  ma'am.     I  don't  know  what  they  are." 

"Is  it  possible?  And  you  don't  know  wheth 
er  you  could  be  a  medyum  or  not  ?" 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  43 

"  Oh,  no,  no  !" 

Rowena  put  out  both  her  hands,  as  if  warding 
off  the  thought.  She  began  to  make  a  backward 
movement  towards  the  door. 

"  You  have  that  peculiar  expression  about  the 
eyes  that  usually  indicates  great  medyumistic 
powers,"  went  on  Mrs.  Jarvis,  showing  a  new  in 
terest  in  her  lodger.  "  Have  you  never  had  no 
thoughts  of  being  developed  ?" 

"  Oh,  no  !  no  !"  cried  Rowena  again,  this  time 
more  emphatically  than  before.  A  wild  idea 
came  to  her  that  she  would  run  away  if  there 
were  danger  of  being  developed. 

"You  shrink  now  because  you  are  ignorant," 
said  Mrs.  Jarvis.  "  Ignorance  is  always  coward 
ly;  it  is  only  as  you  reach  forward  that  you  get 
into  the  full  stream  of  spiritualistic  light.  I'm 
sure  madame  will  be  interested  in  you.  Don't 
fail  to  come  at  eight." 

Rowena  did  not  know  how  she  could  es 
cape  the  sea -ants.  She  gave  her  promise  to 
be  present,  thinking  she  might  die  before 
night. 

When  she  had  climbed  half  the  stairs  to  her 
room,  she  came  back  and  asked  if  she  might 
take  up  some  fuel.  She  was  shown  into  a  dun 
geon  underneath  the  house,  where  there  was  a 
quantity  of  coal  and  some  small  bunches  of  kin 
dling.  She  was  told  to  come  here  for  fuel,  and 


44  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

did  not  know  that  she  paid  for  having  it  carried 
to  her  room. 

An  hour  later  she  was  sitting  over  her  little 
stove,  which  was  now  red-hot.  She  had  tidied 
her  room,  she  had  made  a  list  of  the  things  she 
must  immediately  buy.  She  must  go  out  on  the 
street.  She  wished  that  she  had  something  be 
sides  that  heavy,  coarse  shawl — a  jacket,  for  in 
stance.  But  she  must  hoard  all  her  money  for 
her  living  and  her  lessons.  She  looked  at  a  card 
she  held  in  her  hand.  "  Mr.  Allestree,  Studio  4, 
No.  —  Tremont  Street." 

In  five  minutes  she  was  walking  up  Beach 
Street,  with  a  small  portfolio  of  her  own  sketches 
under  her  arm.  She  was  very  pale,  and  her  heart 
beat  heavily.  She  had  to  inquire  her  way  a  good 
many  times ;  and  when  at  last  she  had  mounted 
the  broad  and  what  seemed  to  her  magnificent 
staircase  of  that  building  on  Tremont  Street,  she 
found  that  Mr.  Allestree  would  not  come  for 
nearly  two  hours.  It  was  now  not  much  after 
eight. 

She  went  back,  and  sat  the  two  hours  in  her 
room.  She  could  not  buy  tea,  or  kerosene,  or 
any  such  vulgar  necessity  until  she  had  seen 
Mr.  Allestree.  It  seemed  to  her  that  she  could 
hardly  breathe  until  she  had  seen  him.  And 
perhaps  he  would  not  take  her. 

She  held  herself  in  her  room  ten  minutes  after 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  45 

the  time  mentioned  by  some  official  she  had  seen 
in  that  place. 

She  did  not  know  whether  to  knock  or  go  bold 
ly  in.  She  knocked  twice,  and  then  had  her  hand 
on  the  latch,  when  the  door  was  suddenly  flung 
open  from  the  inside  by  a  lady  who  held  a  pal 
ette  in  her  left  hand,  together  with  a  maul-stick, 
and  who  had  a  paint-brush  between  her  lips. 

As  soon  as  she  released  the  door  she  removed 
the  brush  from  her  mouth  and  said  : 

"  I  don't  know  why  you  can't  come  right  in." 

Rowena  stepped  in,  and  the  door  clanged  shut 
behind  her.  She  felt  dazzled.  She  knew  vaguely 
that  there  were  busts  and  casts  and  statues  and 
drapery  and  pictures,  framed  and  unframed,  ev 
erywhere  about ;  but  what  dazzled  her  was  the 
woman  who  had  opened  the  door,  and  who  now 
stood  looking  at  her  with  that  calm  kind  of  a 
gaze  which  one  gives  to  an  inanimate  object 
which  cannot  look  back.  Rowena  knew  very 
well  that  she  was  only  an  object  to  this  person  ; 
she  was  indignant,  but  she  was  drawn  all  the 
same. 

The  woman  was  dressed  in  something  light 
gray  and  soft ;  there  was  a  fall  of  pale,  thin  silk 
at  one  side  of  her  skirt,  and  some  of  the  same 
silk  was  fluffed  about  her  throat,  and  by  some 
means  stood  up  high,  and,  in  a  manner,  framed 
the  face,  which  was  radiantly  colorless,  except 


46  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

for  the  lips.  It  was  high-featured  and  thin  and 
disdainful  and  questioning.  It  had  a  quantity 
of  light,  reddish  hair,  short  and  curly  on  the 
forehead — hair  of  the  exact  hue  of  the  thick  eye 
brows  and  eyelashes.  Rowena,  who,  even  in  her 
most  embarrassed  moments,  involuntarily  no 
ticed  colors,  said  to  herself: 

"  Her  eyes  are  green,  and  oh,  how  red  her  lips 
are!" 

"  I  wanted  to  see  Mr.  Allestree,"  said  Rowena, 
at  last,  making  a  great  effort. 

The  woman  now  turned  and  walked  off  to  an 
easel  at  the  end  of  the  room.  She  had  evidently 
been  at  work  there.  As  she  walked  she  said  that 
Mr.  Allestree  might  not  be  in  for  an  hour ;  that 
Rowena  might  wait  if  she  chose.  Was  she  one 
of  his  pupils? 

Rowena  shyly  followed  across  the  immense 
room.  She  was  possessed  by  a  desire  to  see  this 
woman's  work. 

"  I  want  to  be  one  of  his  pupils,"  she  said. 

Her  voice  sounded  so  young,  so  clear,  and  it 
had  so  markedly  that  quality  in  it  which  has  been 
mentioned  that  the  other  occupant  of  the  room 
turned  again,  then  deliberately  put  down  her  pal 
ette  and  other  tools. 

"Have  you  brought  some  of  your  sketches  in 
that  portfolio?"  she  asked. 

"Yes." 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  47 

"  Show  them  to  me.  I've  studied  everything. 
Now  I'm  digging  at  art.  Show  me  your  sketches." 

Rovvena  resented  the  tone,  but  she  obeyed  the 
command.  She  was  very  slow  in  untying  the  rib 
bon  which  bound  her  portfolio  ;  her  fingers  trem 
bled  so,  and  she  could  not  steady  them.  The 
other  woman  watched  her  intently. 

"  You  have  good  hands,"  she  remarked,  coolly, 
not  caring  that  the  words  made  Rowena  flush 
hotly.  "  I  like  them."  Then  she  suddenly  added  : 
"  I  hope  you  haven't  come  here  to  Allestree 
just  because  you  can  daub  placques,  and  put  aw 
ful  hints  of  daisies  on  squares  of  black  satin  to 
hang  up  in  your  rooms.  Horrible  things  !  That's 
what  most  women  do,  and  think  it's  art.  If  I 
can't  do  some  real  work,  I  shall — ah,  did  you  do 
that?" 


48  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 


IV. 

MAJOR   STANGER. 

Row  EN  A  had  at  last  spread  open  her  portfolio. 
The  first  sketch  that  lay  there  was  the  original 
of  the  Warner  homestead,  a  copy  of  which  she 
had  given  Eunice. 

Her  companion  reached  out  a  long,  slim  hand 
with  an  imperative  motion  and  took  the  sheet. 
But  she  did  not  say  anything,  though  Rowena 
stood  looking  at  her  with  dilated,  hoping,  and 
fearing  eyes. 

Every  sketch  was  taken  out  and  gazed  upon 
slowly  and  keenly,  and  in  silence. 

At  last  Rowena  could  bear  it  no  longer.  She 
walked  to  the  easel,  where  this  woman  had  been 
at  work. 

Presently  a  voice  close  beside  her  asked  : 

"  What  do  you  think  of  it  ?" 

"  I  think  it  is  bad,"  said  Rowena. 

"And  you  dare  to  tell  me  so?" 

"  Why  not  tell  you  so,  since  you  asked  me  ?" 

The  country  girl  turned  an  astonished  glance 
at  her  interlocutor,  who  answered  it  angrily. 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  49 

"Mr.  Allestree  does  not  say  it  is  bad,"  she  re 
marked. 

"  Perhaps  it  isn't ;  I  only  think  it  is,"  responded 
Rowena,  humbly, "  and  I  am  very  ignorant." 

The  other  woman's  face  flushed  and  paled. 
Every  movement  of  hers  had  a  certain  graceful, 
final  decision  in  it,  and  was  rapid  without  being 
hurried.  She  took  up  a  brush  and  drew  it  across 
the  landscape  in  oil,  which  was  almost  finished, 
on  her  easel.  A  broad  line  of  crimson  paint  was 
left  on  the  picture.  The  action  seemed  to  have 
dissipated  her  anger.  She  turned  with  a  sin 
gularly  sweet  smile  to  the  girl  who  was  close 
to  her. 

"  I  knew  it  was  bad  all  the  time.  I'm  not  a 
fool,"  she  said,  "  but  all  my  friends  praised  it. 
They  said  I  '  must  stick  to  my  latest  fad,' '  I  was 
born  to  be  an  artist,'  and  all  that  rot.  You  have 
told  me  the  truth  ;  you  can't  lie.  I  might  better 
have  stuck  to  theosophy.  What  do  you  think 
of  theosophy,  Miss ?" 

"  Tuttle,"  said  Rowena,  and  as  she  said  that 
word  a  vivid  vision  of  Mrs.  Jarvis  and  her  morn 
ing-gown  and  her  hair  rose  before  her. 

"  Miss  Tuttle,"  said  her  companion,  promptly, 
"  what  idea  have  you  formed  about  theosophy?" 

"  I  don't  know  what  it  is,"  replied  the  girl, 
blushing  with  shame. 

"  Nobody  knows  what   it  is,"  was  the   unex- 

4 


50  ROWENY    IN    ROSTON. 

pcctcd  rejoinder, "  but  it  is  sometimes  entertain 
ing  to  talk  as  if  we  knew.  A  whole  lot  of  us 
meet  here  and  there  and  talk  and  talk.  It  is 
great  fun  at  first,  but  afterwards  it  gets  to  be  a 
bore.  But  one  must  do  something,  or  what's  the 
use  of  living  in  Borston  ?" 

The  speaker  was  standing  directly  in  front  of 
Rowena.  She  spoke  in  a  voice  that  was  not  high 
or  loud,  but  that  could  be  heard  with  a  peculiar 
distinctness,  each  word  being  like  a  perfectly 
formed  bit  of  marble  suddenly  chipped  off  and 
sent  out  on  its  mission.  It  was  evidently  a  hab 
it,  long  cultivated,  that  she  should  speak  thus. 

Rowena  tried  to  listen  understandingly,  but 
she  was  waiting  for  the  master  to  come,  and  she 
was  wishing  she  dared  to  ask  what  this  stranger 
had  thought  of  her  sketches.  But  of  course  she 
had  not  liked  them,  or  she  would  have  told  her. 

Just  then  the  great  door  of  the  studio  clanged 
again.  A  large  man  in  a  fur-coat  entered  briskly. 

"  There  is  Allestree,"  said  the  woman,  in  an 
undertone  to  Rowena,  who  began  to  tremble  piti 
ably.  She  gathered  her  sketches  hastily  into  her 
arms  and  hurried  out  towards  the  door.  Alles 
tree  saw  her  coming,  and  was  sorry  for  her. 

"Another  poor  devil  who  thinks  she  can  paint," 
he  said  to  himself,  as  he  threw  off  his  cap  and 
coat.  She  stood  and  waited. 

"Well?"  he  said. 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  51 

"  Will  you  look  at  these  ?" 

Rowcna  now  held  herself  straight  and  stiff. 
She  was  thinking  she  could  go  home.  Her  fa 
ther  and  mother  would  be  glad  to  see  her.  She 
could  get  a  school. 

The  man  glanced  to  where  the  other  woman 
stood,  far  away,  near  her  easel. 

"Good-morning,  Miss  Phillipps,"  he  said. 

Rowena  thought  he  dreaded  to  look  at  her 
work.  Again  she  said  to  herself,  "  I  can  go  home. 
If  I  can't  get  a  school,  I  can  do  slop  work." 

Allestree  threw  himself  down  in  a  long  chair 
and  put  his  legs  on  the  foot-rest. 

"  Give  them  to  me,  please,"  he  said. 

She  laid  her  armful  across  his  knees.  He  took 
up  a  sheet. 

"  H'm,"  he  said. 

He  took  up  another  sheet.  Again  he  said 
"H'm." 

He  had  so  much  beard  on  his  face  that  the 
girl  could  not  make  out  one  expression  more 
than  another,  and  at  last  she  lowered  her  eyes 
and  waited  in  despair. 

Finally  he  turned  himself  sideways  and  looked 
at  her. 

"  Did  you  want  me  to  give  you  lessons?" 

"Yes — if  you  think— 

"  We'll  make  a  beginning.  Come  to-morrow 
at  eleven." 


52  ROWENV    IN    BOSTON. 

He  held  out  her  sketches  to  her.  She  took 
them  mechanically.  It  was  all  she  could  do  not 
to  cry  with  relief  and  joy.  Since  Allestree  would 
teach  her  there  must  be  some  promise  in  her  work. 

She  did  not  know  how  she  got  to  the  door. 
As  she  was  trying  to  open  it  Miss  Phillipps 
walked  quickly  to  her. 

"  Here  is  your  portfolio,"  she  said.  With  two 
or  three  deft  movements  she  fastened  the  sketch 
es  in  place. 

"Wait  one  moment  outside  for  me,"  she  said, 
and  opened  the  door  for  Rowena,  who  stepped 
without,  and  stood  dazed  and  tremulous.  She 
thought  of  Uncle  Reuben,  and  hoped  she  should 
soon  "git  to  runnin'." 

The  door  swung  open  again,  and  Rowena  was 
joined  by  Miss  Phillipps  in  heavy  furs. 

"  It  occurred  to  me  that  I  could  take  you 
home,"  she  said.  "  My  carriage  will  be  here. 
You  seemed  so  overcome."  The  two  went  down 
the  stairs.  "  You  were  afraid  Allestree  would 
not  teach  you?" 

"Yes." 

"  He  would  not  if  he  had  not  seen  you  had 
some  talent.  It's  my  opinion  that  you  have  a 
great  deal.  He  took  me  because — I  am  Miss 
Phillipps,"  with  a  little  laugh.  "  Here's  the  car 
riage.  Get  in.  Where  do  you  live  ?  Hudson 
Street,  driver." 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  53 

Miss  Phillipps  sat  down  beside  Rowena,  who 
was  almost  sure  her  senses  were  leaving  her.  But 
through  the  whole  time  a  shrewd  good  sense  had 
enabled  her  to  guess  that  her  companion  was  a 
person  who  had  whims,  and  who  could  afford  to 
indulge  them. 

"  I  shall  see  you  at  the  studio,"  remarked  Miss 
Phillipps. 

"  But  you  have  spoiled  your  picture." 

"  I  spoiled  that  long  ago.  I  shall  begin  an 
other.  How  old  are  you  ?" 

"Almost  twenty-two." 

"  And  I'm  thirty.  I  suppose  you  are  very 
poor?" 

"Yes." 

"  Don't  look  so  proud.  I'm  not  going  to 
offer  you  alms.  Is  this  your  place?  What  is 
that  sign  over  the  basement  window  ?  '  Twenty- 
five  tickets  for  three  dollars  ' — tickets  for  what  ?" 

"  For  meals." 

"  Oh  !     Do  you  have  tickets  ?" 

"  No.  I'm  going  to  do  light  house-keeping  in 
my  room  at  the  top  of  the  house." 

"Oh!  Cook  your  own  meals?  I  should  like 
that  much  better.  Perhaps  when  you  know  me 
well  you  will  invite  me  to  lunch  ?  You  look  as 
if  you  never  would.  Don't  let  your  face  show 
so  plainly  what  you  feel.  What  are  you  going 
to  do  evenings?" 


54  ROWENY    IN    15OSTON. 

"  This  evening  I  am  going  to  a  sea-ants  in  the 
parlor  here,"  replied  Rowena,  with  some  desper 
ation  in  her  manner. 

"  A  sea-ants  ?  Mercy !  Can  it  be  there  are 
still  Spiritualists?  I  went  through  all  that  long 
ago." 

"  I  haven't  been  through  it  yet,"  said  Rowena. 

The  driver  had  been  holding  the  door  open  for 
the  last  few  minutes,  but  Miss  Phillipps  had  put 
a  detaining  hand  on  Rowena's  arm  as  she  asked 
her  questions. 

"  Well,  good-bye." 

Miss  Phillipps  smiled  and  leaned  slightly  tow 
ards  the  young  girl  as  she  said  this.  Rowena 
wished  that  she  did  not  feel  such  a  strong  attrac 
tion  towards  this  lady  when  she  smiled  like  that. 

She  stepped  out  onto  the  sidewalk.  As  she 
did  so,  Mrs.  Jarvis  looked  from  the  parlor  win 
dow.  She  was  dusting  that  room  that  it  might 
be  in  good  order  for  the  evening. 

The  carriage  rolled  away  through  the  mud  and 
slush,  and  Rowena  mounted  the  steps.  Her 
cheeks  burned  and  her  eyes  sparkled. 

Mrs.  Jarvis  came  to  the  parlor  door,  which  was 
always  open  into  the  hall.  There  was  almost 
deference  in  her  manner. 

"Wasn't  that  Miss  Phillipps?"  she  inquired. 

"Yes." 

"  I  didn't  know  she  was  a  friend  of  yours.    I've 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  55 

seen  her  preside  at  different  meetin's,  woman  suf 
frage,  and  so  on.  She's  a  great  reformer,  I  ex 
pect." 

Mrs.  Jarvis  looked  at  Rowena  as  if  hoping  she 
would  explain. 

"  She  isn't  a  friend  of  mine.  I  never  saw  her 
before.  She  was  at  the  studio.  I  don't  know 
why  she  brought  me  here." 

Rowena  thought  she  would  be  dishonest  if 
she  did  not  say  this. 

"She  must  be  very  kind,"  remarked  Mrs.  Jar- 
vis,  beginning  to  whisk  her  feather-duster  again. 

As  Rowena  climbed  the  stairs  she  said  to  her 
self  that  Miss  Phillipps  did  not  seem  exactly  kind 
to  her.  And  yet  the  girl  had  not  resented  the 
questions,  nor  the  incisive  abruptness  of  them. 

By  supper-time  Rowena  told  herself  she  was 
"settled,"  and  felt  as  if  she  had  been  occupying 
that  attic  for  months.  She  made  tea  and  boiled 
eggs  on  the  top  of  her  kerosene  stove.  She 
dipped  a  tough-looking  substance  from  a  tin  can 
labelled  "  Swiss  Condensed  Milk  "  into  her  soli 
tary  teacup.  She  had  some  baker's  rolls  and 
something  she  had  bought  for  butter.  She  had 
really  begun  to  "room-keep;"  she  was  doing 
light  house-keeping. 

Even  the  dexterity  and  the  thrift  of  a  New 
England  country  girl  cannot  make  it  cosey  or 
home-like  to  get  one's  meals  on  the  top  of  a 


56  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

small  oil-lamp  stove.  There  is  a  certain  desola 
tion  about  a  boiled  egg  that  has  been  hopping 
up  and  down  in  a  saucepan  over  that  flame. 

Rowena  was  conscious  of  the  desolation,  even 
in  her  triumph  that  Allestree  would  give  her  les 
sons.  Besides,  her  eggs  were  store -eggs,  and 
had  forgotten  that  they  had  once  been  laid  by 
real  hens.  She  wished  she  had  not  spent  her 
money  for  them,  but  had  eaten  corned  beef  from 
her  trunk,  as  she  had  done  for  dinner.  But,  for 
some  unknown  reason,  even  corned  beef,  if  you 
have  brought  it  in  a  trunk,  loses  the  original 
delicacy  of  flavor  which  so  endears  this  dish  to 
the  rural  inhabitant. 

Rowena  had  "  made  out  her  supper,"  as  her 
mother  would  have  said,  and  was  pensively  try 
ing  to  stir  a  second  wad  of  condensed  milk  into 
a  second  cup  of  tea.  She  was  thinking  that  she 
had  been  very  remiss  in  not  asking  at  the  very 
first  the  price  of  the  painting-lessons.  She  was 
also  trying  not  to  think  about  that  old  house 
she  had  left  the  day  before.  She  was  impatient 
to  become  hardened.  All  those  girls  down-stairs 
— who  were  coming  and  going  through  the  hall 
— they  were  hardened,  of  course.  They  were  not 
homesick. 

She  sat  long  in  front  of  her  stove.  The  door 
was  open,  and  she  could  look  in  upon  the  bright 
coals.  She  did  not  light  her  new  lamp.  All  at 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  57 

once  she  found  that  she  was  sobbing  and  the 
tears  were  running  down  her  cheeks. 

Somebody  knocked  at  the  door.  Rowena 
went  and  opened  it,  glad  that  her  room  was  so 
dark. 

There  was  a  rustling  of  black  silk  as  Mrs.  Jar- 
vis,  in  her  best  gown,  entered. 

"  I  was  afraid  you  had  forgotten  the  sea-ants," 
she  said.  "  I'm  expecting  Madame  Van  Ben- 
thuysen  every  minute.  Most  of  the  friends  are 
here." 

Mrs.  Jarvis  did  not  say  that  she  had  told  the 
friends  that  her  new  lodger  was  a  particular 
friend  of  "  that  Miss  Phillipps." 

Rowena  went  timidly  down  the  stairs  behind 
her  hostess,  who  had  waited  for  her  to  make  her 
piteously  simple  toilet. 

At  the  last  step  Mrs.  Jarvis  suddenly  was 
aware  that  some  very  nervous  fingers  were 
clutching  her  arm. 

"  Remember,"  hurriedly  whispered  Rowena, 
"  I  won't  be  developed  !  I  wouldn't  be  a  medi 
um  for  the  whole  world  !" 

She  shuddered  violently.  Before  any  reply 
could  be  made  the  outer  door,  directly  in  front 
of  them,  was  opened,  and  a  young  man  entered, 
followed  by  a  tall  lady  in  a  gray  fur  circular. 
It  seemed  to  Rowena  that  the  ulster  of  the  man 
was  familiar ;  the  way  it  flopped  about  the  an- 


58  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

kles  recalled  something  to  her.  The  next  in 
stant  she  knew  that  it  recalled  a  pale  pink  neck 
tie  and  bread  crumbs  and  coffee  drops. 

Mrs.  Jarvis  rushed  forward  to  greet  the  person 
in  the  circular.  The  two  women  kissed  each 
other  loudly.  They  talked  in  a  mumbling,  rapid 
way  for  a  moment,  while  the  young  man  took 
off  his  hat  in  a  pointed  manner  to  Rowena,  who 
still  kept  her  place  on  the  lower  stair.  She  could 
hear  the  murmur  of  conversation  from  the  par 
lor.  She  had  thoughts  of  flying  back  up  the 
stairs.  The  young  man  appeared  to  suspect 
that  she  had  such  thoughts,  for  he  moved  around 
behind  the  two  and  whispered,  with  a  deprecat 
ing  look: 

"  Don't  go;  you'll  find  it  great  fun." 

Rowena  forgot  how  very  improper  it  was  to 
speak  without  an  introduction. 

"  If  I  do  stay,"  she  said,  in  the  same  voice,  "  I 
won't  be  a  medium." 

Then  she  blushed  painfully,  and  knew  she  had 
done  very  wrong. 

The  young  man  flushed  up  with  pleasure  be 
cause  she  had  answered  him.  He  was  going  to 
say  something  more,  when  Mrs.  Jarvis  turned  and 
drew  the  girl  forward,  saying  : 

"  This  is  my  young  friend,  Miss — I  didn't  quite 
catch  your  name,  my  dear." 

"  Tuttle,"  said  Rowena. 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  59 

"  Oh  yes,  Tuttle.  You  see,  she  is  a  sensitive 
subject,  open  to  influence." 

Madame  Van  Benthuysen  was  not  only  tall, 
but  large,  and  her  circular  made  her  almost  im 
mense.  She  had  a  dark  face,  with  heavy-lidded 
eyes  and  thick,  black  eyebrows. 

She  took  Rowena's  hand  with  one  of  her  own 
and  put  the  other  arm  over  the  girl's  shoulders. 
A  great  fold  of  the  cloak  nearly  enveloped  the 
slight  figure. 

"  My  dear  child,  I  am  truly  glad  to  see  you," 
said  madame,  in  a  rolling,  unctuous  voice,  that 
was  indicative  of  great  good  nature  and  enor 
mous  self-esteem.  "  The  conditions  are  lovely 
to-night.  I  knew  it  as  we  came  along  in  the 
horse-car  ;  I  said  to  my  nephew,  '  Ferdinand,'  said 
I,  '  I  feel  that  the  conditions  were  never  more 
propitious  than  to-night.' " 

The  speaker  pronounced  propitious  as  if  it 
were  spelled  "  propishuous,"  and  she  uttered  the 
word  with  such  an  air  that  Rovvena  almost 
thought  that  she  herself  had  always  been  mis 
taken  about  that  word. 

"Were  you  coming  to  the  sea-ants  in  the  hope 
of  being  developed?"  inquired  madame,  still 
holding  the  cold,  slender  hand  warmly  in  her  fat 
fingers. 

Rowena,  with  a  great  effort,  removed  her  hand. 
Again  the  nephew  of  madame,  who  was  now  in 


60  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

the  background,  saw  that  she  had  the  impulse 
to  run  away  up  those  stairs.  He  moved  forward 
rather  precipitately,  and  asked  if  he  might  be 
presented  to  the  young  lady.  His  aunt  imme 
diately  performed  the  introduction  with  effusion. 
Then  she  proceeded  to  lay  aside  her  circular. 
During  this  process  she  informed  Mrs.  Jarvis, 
who  was  assisting  her,  that  the  reason  her  circu 
lar  wore  so  well  and  looked  so  fresh  was  because 
she  never  sat  down  in  it.  If  you  sat  down  in  a 
circular  you  ruined  the  fur  and  crushed  the  silk. 
Economy  was  one  of  the  first  of  virtues  with 
her.  She  was  never  ashamed  of  economy.  The 
major  had  always  said  she  could  dress  better  on 
twenty-five  dollars  than  any  other  woman  could 
on  a  hundred. 

She  was  now  smoothing  the  front  breadths  of 
her  black  satin  gown,  and  adjusting  herself  gen 
erally  before  the  small  mirror  in  the  hat- rack. 
Rowena  was  conscious  of  a  sort  of  shock  when 
she  saw  that  madame  also  wore  a  pompadour 
roll — and  how  black  it  was,  and  how  it  shone  ! 

Involuntarily  the  girl's  hand  went  up  to  her 
own  head  ;  she  feared  lest  she  herself  might  have 
such  a  roll — it  might  be  the  first  visible  symptom 
of  development  towards  mediumistic  powers. 

"  Is  Major  Stanger  coming  to-night?" 

It  was  Rowena  who  asked  this  question,  be 
cause  an  ungovernable  curiosity  prompted  her. 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  6 1 

Madame  turned  from  patting  her  hair.  Rowe- 
na  did  not  know  why  the  young  man  broke  into 
a  laugh,  which  he  instantly  strangled.  It  was 
the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world,  Rowena 
thought,  for  her  to  make  that  inquiry.  Had  not 
Mrs.  Jarvis  told  her  that  that  gentleman  was  ex 
pected  ?  Rowena  still  hoped  he  would  not  be 
present. 

"  It  is  impossible  to  tell  until  I  am  under  con 
trol,"  rather  coldly  answered  madame.  And  then 
they  all  went  into  the  parlor,  and  the  dozen  la 
dies  present  all  shook  hands  with  madame,  and 
the  one  man  who  was  already  there  nodded  icily 
at  madame's  nephew. 

They  all  sat  down.  Madame  was  opposite  a 
closed  card-table.  At  first  there  was  a  little  des 
ultory  talk,  but  very  soon  there  was  complete 
silence.  Everybody  looked  at  madame  save  the 
stout  young  man,  who  looked  at  Rowena. 

Madame  continued  to  smile  in  a  broad,  gen 
eral  way,  even  after  her  elbows  began  to  twitch 
and  she  had  shut  her  eyes. 

All  at  once  she  crossed  her  legs  in  a  very  pro 
nounced  manner.  She  placed  one  hand  on  her 
hip.  She  put  the  other  hand  to  her  face  and  ap 
peared  to  twirl  a  mustache. 

"  Gad,"  said  she,  in  a  husky  voice. 

Everybody  moved  a  little,  in  subdued  wonder 
and  admiration. 


62  ROVVENY    IN    BOSTON. 

"Gad,"  said  madamc  again;  "seems  to  me 
there's  a  new  gal  here,  ain't  there?" 

More  admiration. 

"  It's  the  major,"  whispered  some  one. 

Mrs.  Jarvis  held  up  her  finger  for  silence.  Ev 
erybody  listened  breathlessly  for  more  words  of 
wisdom. 

Madame  asked  for  a  cigar.  She  said  some 
thing  about  a  cocktail.  She  seemed  to  smoke 
and  to  drink.  She  was  evidently  now  a  person 
ating  medium. 

Rowena  was  sorry  for  her.  She  did  not  reply 
when  Mrs.  Jarvis  asked  in  a  very  low  tone  if  it 
wasn't  wonderful. 

But  after  a  moment  Rowena,  in  that  clear 
voice  of  hers,  asked  if  it  was  Major  Stanger.  On 
being  told  that  it  was,  without  a  doubt,  she  said 
it  was  very  lucky  that  the  major  had  been  killed, 
for  he  must  have  been  horrid  when  in  the  flesh. 

She  could  not  guess  why  such  daggers  were 
looked  at  her.  She  had  forgotten  that  the  ma 
jor  had  once  been  the  husband  of  the  medium. 
She  was  liable  to  forget  such  things,  and  there 
fore  her  remarks  were  sometimes  quite  electrify 
ing  in  their  frank  simplicity.  Ferdinand,  who, 
she  now  perceived,  was  sitting  very  near  her, 
thrust  his  handkerchief  into  his  mouth  and  look 
ed  at  her  over  it  with  eyes  that  almost  fright 
ened  her. 


ROWENY    IN    I5OSTON.  63 


V. 
A   BUNCH   OF   MATERIALIZED    PINKS. 

MRS.  JARVIS'S  narrow  forehead  appeared  nar 
rower  than  ever  with  that  frown  upon  it.  She 
looked  at  Rowena  with  such  persistence  that 
the  girl's  face  grew  deeply  red. 

Madame  Van  Benthuysen  continued  to  smoke 
an  imaginary  cigar  and  to  sip  an  imaginary  cock 
tail.  She  seemed  to  find  the  occupation  rather 
exhilarating.  She  said  something  more  about  a 
"  new  gal,"  and  wanted  to  know  where  the  deuce 
she  came  from — referring  to  Rowena.  She  said 
there  was  nothing  so  thundering  skurse  in  the 
world  as  a  pretty  gal.  If  they  had  any  of  that 
article,  just  trot  um  out.  If  he  was  a  judge  of 
anything  on  the  footstool  he  was  a  judge  of  that 
article. 

I  find  that  I  do  not  know  whether  to  use  the 
masculine  or  feminine  pronoun  in  my  present 
description.  When  I  say  "she"  I  am  thinking 
of  the  medium,  and  when  I  say  "he"  I  am 
thinking  of  her  "control."  I  could  wish  that 


64  ROWENY    IN    HOSTON. 

the  pronoun  of  common  gender  had  been  in 
vented  ;  this  would  include  both  Major  Stanger 
and  his  widow,  and  would  relieve  a  reporter  of 
any  embarrassment. 

The  company  began  to  titter  in  a  delighted 
manner,  and  to  look  at  each  other.  Those  who 
had  had  the  pleasure  of  the  gentleman's  ac 
quaintance  before  the  battle  of  Bull  Run  ex 
plained  that  they  should  have  known  him  any 
where.  Those  who  had  not  previously  met  him 
said  that  it  must  be  the  major,  for  they  could 
almost  smell  the  cocktail,  and  if  it  had  been  an 
impostor  they  could  not  possibly  have  done  that, 
now,  could  they? 

Ferdinand  Foster,  the  nephew,  began  to  be 
afraid  that  his  aunt  would  get  drunk  ;  he  thought 
she  showed  symptoms  of  ordering  another  cock 
tail.  He  wished  he  knew  what  to  do.  He 
thought  he  would  ask  for  a  communication.  He 
consulted  with  Mrs.  Jarvis,  who,  in  the  bottom 
of  her  heart,  was  beginning  to  think  they  had 
had  enough  of  the  gallant  soldier.  Stanger  had 
now  relapsed  into  a  silence  that  was  only  broken 
by  an  occasional  "Gad."  This  remark  was  va 
ried  by  whiffs  of  tobacco  and  sips  of  liquor. 
Rowena's  face  showed  such  unutterable  disgust 
that  young  Foster  was  afraid  she  would  leave 
the  room. 

Suddenly  madame  threw  away  the  stump  of 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  65 

the  invisible  cigar.  With  her  eyes  fast  closed 
she  rose  from  her  chair  and  stepped  over  to 
where  Rowena  was  sitting.  (Let  me  say  here  in 
parenthesis  that,  in  justice  to  my  narrative,  I  find 
that  I  must  use  the  masculine  pronoun  part  of 
the  time.)  Madame  Van  Benthuysen  put  his 
arm  about  Rowena's  shoulders. 

"  Thunderin'  pretty  gal !"  he  said. 

Rowena  started  up  with  a  furious  motion.  At 
the  same  instan^  Ferdinand  seized  madame's 
arm  and  led  her  back  to  her  chair,  in  which  she 
sat  down  heavily. 

The  other  gentleman  here  rose  with  some 
pomposity,  and  remarked  that  "  the  control  was 
perhaps  too  strong  for  the  medyum.  It  was 
sometimes  the  case  that,  when  the  conditions 
were  specially  favorable,  the  control  was  too 
powerful  for  the  medyum." 

He  walked  to  madame,  whose  head  was  hang 
ing  down  and  mouth  hanging  open.  He  made 
a  few  passes  across  her  forehead.  She  soon  be 
gan  to  twitch  again  and  to  gasp.  She  opened 
her  eyes,  looked  wildly  about,  and  then  resumed 
her  natural  expression.  She  asked  if  the  major 
had  been  there. 

All  this  time  Rowena  was  standing,  holding 
the  back  of  her  chair. 

Before  any  one  could  answer  madame's  ques 
tion,  Ferdinand  said  impressively  that  he  had 
5 


66  ROWENY   IN    BOSTON. 

been  hoping  to  hear  from  his  grandmother  that 
night.  He  had  come  to  the  sea -ants  in  that 
hope. 

Madame  did  not  notice  his  remark.  She 
looked  at  Rowena  and  asked  if  there  was  no  one 
in  the  spirit  land  she  would  like  to  have  a  mes 
sage  from. 

Rowena  said  that  she  had  no  one  in  the  spirit 
land  ;  none  of  her  friends  had  died. 

"No  bond  of  affection  in  other  spheres?"  ex 
claimed  madame,  who  was  evidently  preparing 
now  for  a  very  different  control  from  the  major. 

It  was  plainly  felt  that  it  was  an  unlucky 
thing  that  Rowena  had  no  friends  who  had 
"  passed  away."  One  little  woman  questioned 
her  closely.  Were  her  uncles  and  aunts  all  liv 
ing?  Grandparents  on  both  sides?  Cousins? 
Indeed!  How  singular!  Suddenly  Rowena  re 
membered  that  one  of  her  mother's  sisters  had 
died  before  the  girl's  birth.  This  fact  she  ac 
knowledged  under  cross-examination. 

"  I  was  sure  of  it !"  cried  the  little  woman. 
She  turned  towards  madame.  "A  precious  aunt 
of  our  sister  here  has  gone  on  into  the  flower 
spheres.  Cannot  we  hear  from  that  dear  one  ?" 

But  Rowena  was  now  inwardly  almost  frantic. 
She  tried  to  be  calm.  She  said  she  did  not  wish 
to  hear  from  that  aunt.  She  said  she  would  not 
hear  from  her.  She  had  never  known  her  and 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  67 

was  not  interested  in  her.  She  was  very  tired. 
She  thought  she  might  better  go  to  her  room. 

She  walked  to  the  door.  They  all  looked  at 
her  as  the  girls  at  the  table  had  looked  at  her.* 

Ferdinand  was  so  angry  that  it  was  with  diffi 
culty  he  restrained  himself  from  getting  up  and 
kicking  over  his  chair. 

His  aunt  saw  his  face.  She  was  very  fond  of 
him.  She  rose  hastily  and  followed  the  girl,  who 
was  mounting  the  stairs  rapidly. 

"  My  dear,"  said  the  rolling,  full  voice,  very 
kindly,  "  do  come  back  for  a  moment." 

Everybody  felt  how  honored  that  little  chit 
was.  What  did  it  mean  ? 

Rowena  came  back,  very  tremulous  and  very 
indignant. 

"  It  is  not  polite  to  Mrs.  Jarvis,"  said  madame. 
"  Come."  She  held  out  her  hand  and  Rowena 
put  hers  in  it.  As  she  did  so  the  woman  drew 
her  nearer  and  whispered  :  "  There  will  be  a 
slight  c'lation  by-and-by.  Sometimes  there  is 
charlotte-russe." 

There  was  such  a  curious  mixture  of  moth 
erly  kindness  and  ridiculousness  in  the  woman's 
words  and  manner  that  the  lonely  girl  was  touch 
ed.  She  wanted  to  cry  and  to  laugh. 

"There!  there!"  whispered  madame  again. 
"  Did  the  major  try  to  make  love  to  you?" 

"  He  was  dreadful !"  hotly  cried  Rowena. 


68  ROWENY   IN    BOSTON. 

Madame  smiled  complacently.  "  I  knew  the 
conditions  were  very  propishuous,"  she  said. 
"The  major  was  always  fond  of  young  ladies. 
It  was  his  way." 

The  two  entered  the  room  again.  Young  Fos 
ter  sprang  to  see  that  their  chairs  were  ready  for 
them.  Madame  Van  Benthuysen  resumed  her 
place  by  the  card-table. 

The  gentleman  who  had  made  passes  over  the 
medium's  forehead  now  again  came  forward.  He 
said  he  was  under  influence.  He  said  he  should 
be  obliged  to  ask  madame  to  give  him  her  hand. 
He  requested  that  from  himself  and  the  medium 
there  be  a  circle  of  joined  hands  formed.  He  was 
obeyed.  While  the  circle  was  forming  the  gen 
tleman  became  more  and  more  agitated.  He 
even  uttered  a  smothered  war-whoop,  and  be 
trayed  symptoms  of  jumping  up  and  down. 

Ferdinand  confidentially  informed  Rowena 
that  old  Thompson's  control  was  Red  Jacket, 
and  that  he  guessed  Red  Jacket  was  coming  on 
the  stage,  by  the  appearance  of  things.  The 
speaker  had  kept  out  of  the  circle  because  he 
saw  that  Miss  Tuttle  was  careful  to  do  so. 

It  was  evident  that  madame  was  not  over- 
pleased  at  the  advent  of  Red  Jacket.  She  looked 
rather  glum,  and  let  her  hand  lie  very  loosely  in 
deed  in  the  man's  clasp.  As  she  told  Mrs.  Jar- 
vis  later  when  the  c'lation  began,  "  It  was  always 


ROWENY   IN    BOSTON.  69 

very  trying  when  that  old  Thompson  put  himself 
forward.  There  were  lots  of  spirits  crowding  to 
be  heard  through  her,  but  they  had  to  go  back 
to  their  spheres  on  account  of  Red  Jacket.  And 
Red  Jacket  was  never  interesting." 

He  was  not  interesting  now.  As  Mrs.  Jarvis 
said,  "  he  hollered  a  good  deal."  He  also  had 
recurrent  inclinations  to  engage  in  a  war-dance, 
and  was  only  restrained  by  the  persistent  and 
unyielding  power  of  the  circle  of  hands. 

Mrs.  Jarvis  was  always  afraid  her  furniture 
would  suffer  at  the  hands  of  this  control.  She 
had  not  meant  that  Mr.  Thompson  should  be  pres 
ent  this  evening,  but  he  had  come.  She  knew 
how  very  ready  a  hole  \vas  to  appear  in  her  worn 
carpet,  and  how  the  horse-hair  of  the  chairs  was 
longing  to  unravel  itself.  There  were  reasons 
connected  with  the  charlotte-russe,  too,  why  she 
would  have  preferred  that  this  medium  should 
stay  away. 

Her  face  was  now  very  strained  and  anxious. 
Red  Jacket  had  just  jumped  up  and  down  on  the 
poorest  place  in  the  carpet.  If  he  did  it  again 
she  was  sure —  Here  her  attention  was  diverted 
by  the  appearance  of  Madame  Van  Benthuysen. 
That  lady  was  plainly  going  into  her  second 
trance.  She  sank  into  a  chair;  the  circle  was 
broken ;  Mr.  Thompson  gradually  disposed  of 
Red  Jacket,  and  seemed  to  be  quite  sulky  at  the 


70  ROWENY   IN    BOSTON. 

necessity  for  such  disposal.  Madame  began  to 
murmur  something  about  "  Flowers  of  heaven  ! 
Beautiful  blooms  of  the  spirit  land  !  How  beau 
tiful !" 

She  went  on  in  a  low  voice  which  charmed 
Rowena's  ears.  The  words  flowed  in  an  easy 
tide,  not  meaning  much,  but  seeming  to  the  girl 
to  mean  something  extraordinarily  lovely. 

Rowena  sat  spellbound,  eagerly  bending  for 
ward  in  her  chair,  her  eyes  on  madame's  face, 
which  now  did  not  seem  so  swarthy  nor  so 
"fleshly." 

After  a  few  minutes  Mrs.  Jarvis  rose  and  noise 
lessly  made  a  request  of  Mr.  Foster,  who  imme 
diately  stood  up  and  turned  off  the  gas  from  all 
the  burners  of  the  chandelier. 

Rowena  was  inexpressibly  astonished.  At  first 
the  room  seemed  entirely  dark,  but  presently  the 
light  from  a  street  lamp  dimly  relieved  the  abso 
lute  darkness.  No  one  spoke,  save  that  madame 
went  on  with  her  monologue.  Rowena  was  some 
what  subdued  and  somewhat  alarmed. 

Suddenly  the  girl  was  aware  of  the  odor  of 
flowers.  The  odor  made  her  think  of  the  per 
fume  from  the  bed  of  pinks  in  the  front-yard  of 
the  old  house  at  home;  and  of  warm  summer 
days  when  the  birds  were  singing  in  the  apple- 
trees.  She  felt  a  stinging  of  the  eyes  and  a  hur 
rying  of  the  pulses. 


ROWENY   IN    BOSTON.  71 

Something  cool  and  soft  touched  her  hands, 
which  lay  clasped  tightly  in  her  lap.  The  voice 
went  on.  Through  the  mist  in  her  eyes  she  dim 
ly  saw  Foster's  figure  moving  towards  the  chan 
delier  again.  The  monotonous  voice  of  madame 
ceased.  There  was  the  crack  of  a  match,  and  then 
the  glare  of  the  gas  again. 

All  the  people  looked  at  each  other  ;  then  they 
looked  at  Rowena,  who  perceived  on  her  lap  a 
bunch  of  white  carnation  pinks. 

With  an  exclamation  she  raised  the  flowers  to 
her  face.  As  she  did  so  she  saw  Foster's  eyes 
upon  her,  and  something  in  their  expression  made 
her  think  of  Philip  Barrett.  She  heard  one  of  the 
women  saying : 

"  They  have  been  materialized,"  and  she  won 
dered  what  those  words  meant.  She  was  still 
thinking  of  that  bed  of  pinks  at  home. 

It  was  not  for  some  time  that  she  understood 
that  these  were  supposed  to  be  spirit  flowers. 
She  was  not  quite  clear  whether  they  had  been 
made  by  spirit  influence  out  of  the  air  of  the 
room,  and  had  accidentally  fallen  into  her  lap,  or 
whether  they  had  dropped  there  directly  from 
heaven. 

She  did  not  like  to  think  they  had  been  pro 
cured  by  Mr.  Foster ;  no  one  appeared  to  sus 
pect  him  in  the  least,  and  he,  after  that  first 
glance,  looked  so  impressively  innocent  that  Ro- 


72  ROWENY   IN    BOSTON. 

wena  gave  up  all  thought,  save  that  of  simple 
gratitude  for  the  blooms  themselves. 

Then  there  was  the  collation, which  was  brought 
round  on  plates  by  Mrs.  Jarvis  and  one  of  her 
friends.  There  was  cake,  and  bread,  and  cold 
ham  ;  but  there  were  no  "  charlottes."  Mr. 
Thompson  spoke  somewhat  feelingly  of  the  ab 
sence  of  this  delicacy,  and  Madame  Van  Ben- 
thuysen  said  that  she  was  always  conscious  of  a 
great  sense  of  sinking  after  being  under  influ 
ence,  and  charlottes  removed  this  sinking  more 
rapidly  than  anything  she  had  ever  tried.  Ro- 
wena  judged  from  appearances  that  perhaps  ham 
might  in  time  have  an  effect  on  that  sensation  in 
madame's  internal  organization. 

Mrs.  Jarvis  seemed  very  much  worried  ;  she 
explained  that  at  the  last  moment  her  baker 
had  disappointed  her,  and  she  had  always  found 
charlottes  from  every  other  baker  to  be  rancid. 
This  was  a  sweeping  libel  on  other  bakers,  but 
the  company  seemed  to  accept  it  and  tried  to 
hide  their  disappointment.  The  little  woman 
said  emphatically  that  nothing  in  this  world 
"  took  hurt  "  so  quickly  as  charlottes.  You 
might  get  a  mess  and  think  they  were  as  good 
as  they  could  be,  and  all  at  once  they  were  taken 
hurt.  She  didn't  know  why  'twas  they  were  so 
perishable. 

Very  soon    after  the  collation   the   company 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  73 

broke  up.  The  person  whom  Red  Jacket  con 
trolled  went  away  in  a  very  glum  manner.  Per 
haps  he  had  reckoned  on  damaging  Mrs.  Jarvis's 
furniture  more  seriously,  and  was  disappointed. 

Madame  Van  Benthuysen  took  a  very  affec 
tionate  farewell  of  Rowena.  The  great  circular 
again  partially  enwrapped  the  girl.  Its  owner 
whispered  that  she  was  longing  to  know  her 
better,  and  that  she  should  call  on  her  upon  the 
first  spare  moment  that  the  spirits  gave  her.  She 
spoke  as  if  the  spirits  worked  her  very  hard. 

At  last  the  street  door  had  shut  on  the  last 
woman.  Mrs.  Jarvis  looked  so  weary  as  she  be 
gan  to  set  back  the  chairs  that  Rowena  stopped 
to  help  her. 

"I  sha'n't  have  no  chance  in  the  morning,"  said 
Mrs.  Jarvis;  "the  reg'lars  begin  to  come  so  early, 
and  I  can't  trust  anybody  else  to  take  the  tick 
ets.  I  sh'll  have  to  pick  up  and  wash  these  dish 
es  before  I  go  to  bed.  I  can't  ask  the  servant- 
girls  to  do  it.  Sometimes  I  think  it  don't  pay 
to  try  to  have  a  good  time.  That  old  Thomp 
son  set  me  all  on  edge." 

Rowena  packed  up  the  dishes  and  hurried 
down  into  the  kitchen  with  them.  The  water- 
bugs  scuttled  away  in  battalions  as  she  opened 
the  door.  The  small  gas-jet  revealed  their  hur 
rying  forms.  The  country  girl  had  never  seen  a 
water-bug  before.  If  they  had  not  retreated  be- 


74  ROWENY   IN   BOSTON. 

fore  she  could  possibly  turn  her  back,  she  would 
have  run. 

She  had  never  seen  any  place  so  desolate  as 
that  kitchen  was.  It  was  so  different  from  that 
cosey  room  where  one  might  live  in  thrifty  com 
fort  in  her  own  home. 

The  steaming  water  came  out  of  the  faucet 
onto  the  pile  of  dishes  in  the  pan.  Mrs.  Jarvis, 
coming  down  after  her  labor  in  the  parlor,  found 
that  she  had  very  little  to  do.  Her  thin,  worn 
face  lighted  up. 

"  I  declare,  you  do  know  how  to  take  hold," 
she  said. 

At  last  the  furnace  was  attended  to  and  the 
two  women  slowly  mounted  the  dingy  basement 
stairs.  It  was  after  midnight.  Rowena  went  into 
the  parlor  for  the  bunch  of  pinks  she  had  left 
there  that  she  might  work. 

Mrs.  Jarvis  paused  an  instant  to  look  at  them. 
She  glanced  up  in  the  girl's  face,  but  Rowena 
was  bending  over  the  blooms. 

"  I  should  think  a  sight  of  them  if  I'd  had 
them,"  remarked  the  elder.  "  'Tain't  often  the 
conditions  are  all  right.  I  do  almost  think  you'd 
develop  first-rate." 

Rowena  hurriedly  said  "  good-night."  But  be 
fore  Mrs.  Jarvis  could  lay  herself  down  to  rest, 
she  must  pull  out  the  bed-lounge  in  the  back 
parlor  and  arrange  it  that  she  might  repose 


ROWENY   IN    BOSTON.  75 

upon  it.  By  that  time  the  arrival  of  the  ear 
liest  reg'lars  seemed  so  near  that  Mrs.  Jarvis 
again  asked  herself  whether  or  not  it  paid  to 
have  a  sea-ants,  particularly  if  old  Thompson 
were  coming. 


76  ROWENY   IN    BOSTON. 


VI. 

A   LETTER   FROM   THE   COUNTRY. 

"WHAT  did  you  have  at  the  seance  last  night?" 
suddenly  asked  Miss  Phillipps,  as  she  paused  close 
to  where  Rowena  sat  at  work  drawing. 

"  Carnation  pinks." 

"  From  where?" 

"  From  heaven." 

"  Oh  yes,  I  remember.  We  used  to  have  flow 
ers  from  heaven  at  our  seances  —  if  the  condi 
tions  were  right  —  if  no  frost  had  touched  the 
conservatories  of  Paradise.  What  else  ?" 

"  Ham  and  bread  and  cake." 

"  From  heaven,  also  ?" 

"  No ;  from  the  butcher's  and  the  baker's,  at 
the  corner." 

Rowena  suddenly  laid  down  her  pencil.  She 
looked  up  at  the  woman  near  her. 

"  Miss  Phillipps,"  she  said,  earnestly,  "  truly, 
where  do  the  flowers  come  from  ?" 

The  girl's  face  was  so  earnest  and  innocent 
and  eager  that  Miss  Phillipps,  who  resisted  very 
few  impulses,  felt  that  she  deserved  praise  for 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  77 

not  yielding  to  the  temptation  to  kiss  that 
face. 

She  said,  instead,  gravely  and  distantly,  on  ac 
count  of  her  resistance : 

"  They  are  materialized." 

Rovvena  was  silent,  and  resumed  her  work. 

This  was  her  first  lesson.  She  was  told  to  do 
what  she  could,  with  cardboard  and  pencils,  with 
a  clay  figure  of  a  dog  set  up  before  her.  Allestree 
had  told  her  that,  technically,  she  knew  absolute 
ly  nothing. 

Miss  Phillipps  had  tried  to  encourage  her  by 
saying  that  Allestree  had  never  told  her  even  as 
much  as  that.  Technique  was  something  that 
might  be  acquired,  but  one  had  to  be  born  with 
talent.  Of  course,  she  would  not  be  obliged  to 
do  anything  at  all  with  that  clay  dog.  Alles 
tree  did  not  care  what  he  put  people  at,  at 
the  first.  He  watched  them  to  see  what  was  in 
them. 

The  girl  flushed  and  paled  as  she  heard  those 
words.  Miss  Phillipps  went  on  with  her  own 
work.  She  seemed  to  do  exactly  what  she  pleased 
in  the  studio.  She  had  now  begun  a  cluster  of 
Indian-pipes,  growing  from  a  patch  of  grayish- 
green  moss,  near  a  small  clump  of  sweet-fern. 
She  said  that  any  idiot  could  do  flowers,  after  a 
fashion;  they  would  not  be  flowers,  but  people 
would  think  they  were,  particularly  if  you  labelled 


78  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

them.  She  doubted  if  Indian-pipe  was  a  real  flow 
er,  however.  Probably  it  was  a  kind  of  fungus. 

There  were  a  dozen  or  more  pupils  at  work 
now  in  the  great  studio.  They  were  very  silent. 
Allestree,  in  a  blue  velvet  jacket,  was  walking 
slowly  behind  them,  pausing  and  criticising,  then 
standing  in  the  centre  of  the  room  and  talking 
instructively,  often  using  phrases  of  which  Rowe- 
na  was  entirely  ignorant.  If  she  had  dared  she 
would  have  thought  him  verging  on  the  grandil 
oquent  ;  but  he  was  so  big,  and  had  such  a  beard, 
that  it  was  appropriate  that  he  should  be  gran 
diloquent. 

The  girl  felt  very  small  and  helpless  and  wretch 
ed,  even  though  she  had  been  admitted  here. 

"  Elsewhere,"  Allestree  had  just  said,  in  his 
magnificent  baritone,  "elsewhere  they  talk  about 
art ;  in  Boston  they  love  it." 

Then  he  walked  up  and  down,  his  beard  gath 
ered  in  his  left  hand,  his  head  bent.  He  had  a 
large  diamond  on  the  third  finger  of  the  hand 
that  held  the  beard,  and  every  time  Rowena 
looked  up  a  ray  from  the  diamond  seemed  to 
smite  her. 

He  went  on  talking.  He  did  not  examine  very 
particularly  the  work  of  his  pupils  this  morning. 
He  stopped  oftenest  at  the  side  of  the  latest 
comer,  but  he  made  no  remark.  As  Miss  Phil- 
lipps  had  said,  Rowena  could  do  very  little  with 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  79 

that  clay  dog.  She  wondered  why  it  had  been 
given  her.  She  drew  and  erased,  and  drew  and 
erased,  until  she  felt  that  there  was  no  hope  for 
her.  The  hour  was  nearly  over. 

Nobody  talked,  save  that  Miss  Phillipps  made 
one  or  two  remarks  concerning  the  folly  of  think 
ing  that  more  than  one  or  two  in  a  century  might 
learn  to  paint.  The  principal  point,  she  said,  was 
to  find  out  who  these  one  or  two  were  ;  when  that 
was  discovered,  the  rest  might  put  away  their 
brushes. 

Allestree  listened  to  her  with  some  deference, 
but  he  made  no  reply.  Such  a  theory  as  that 
would  not  be  good  for  the  painting-master. 

Miss  Phillipps  suddenly  looked  at  her  watch, 
and  then  left  abruptly,  not  again  speaking  to 
Rowena,  who  felt  unreasonably  depressed,  and 
who  was  very  thankful  when  the  lesson  was  over. 
One  or  two  of  the  other  pupils  smiled  at  her  and 
nodded,  but  the  majority  did  not  notice  her. 
Why  should  they? 

She  passed  by  Allestree,  who  was  standing 
with  a  brush  in  his  hand  before  a  winter  land 
scape.  He  turned  and  watched  her  as  she  went 
towards  the  door. 

Something  made  his  face  soften.  'He  stepped 
quickly  after  her.  The  thought  in  his  mind  was 
that  he  should  like  to  make  a  sketch  of  her  as 
she  walked.  What  he  said  was : 


80  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

"  Don't  be  discouraged.  This  is  only  the  first 
lesson." 

A  flash  of  sunlight  seemed  to  fall  suddenly  on 
the  girl's  face. 

"  Oh,  thank  you  !"  she  said,  hurriedly,  and  went 
out  of  the  door. 

The  rest  of  the  week  was  very  dreary  indeed, 
in  spite  of  all  she  had  to  encourage  her.  She 
would  only  take  one  lesson  a  week  at  present. 
She  had  learned  the  price  of  those  lessons,  and 
they  were  very  high.  She  did  not  see  Miss  Phil- 
lipps  :  she  hardly  saw  Mrs.  Jarvis.  She  stayed  in 
her  room  most  of  the  time  and  did  light  house 
keeping.  Sometimes,  when  she  went  out  for  a 
bit  of  butter  or  some  rolls,  she  would  walk  up  to 
a  brighter  part  of  the  city  and  stroll  across  the 
Common,  thinking  it  was  a  very  poor  make-be 
lieve  of  the  country.  Once,  in  a  carriage  that 
quickly  turned  the  corner  of  Park  Street,  she 
thought  she  saw  Miss  Phillipps  with  a  gentleman 
beside  her,  and  both  were  talking  animatedly. 

The  sight  made  the  girl  more  gloomy  than 
before. 

The  "  reg'lars  "  seemed  to  be  very  faithful  at 
their  meals,  and  Mrs.  Jarvis  was  faithful  at  her 
ticket-table  in  the  parlor  door-way.  Rowena  be 
gan  two  or  three  sketches,  trying  to  obey,  in  the 
attempts,  some  hints  Allcstree  had  given.  But 
everything  was  confused  and  vague.  She  wrote 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  8 1 

a  long  letter  home :  in  the  letter  she  talked  of 
everything  in  the  country,  but  of  nothing  in  the 
city.  She  would  have  it  ready  for  her  Uncle 
Reuben,  for  whose  coming  she  longed  pitiably. 
But  the  day  she  expected  him  there  came  a  blind 
ing  snow-storm.  Now  she  did  not  know  when  to 
expect  him.  She  would  have  sent  her  letter  by 
mail,  but  she  knew  her  father  only  went  to  the 
post-office  when  other  business  called  him  to 
"the  Corners."  The  letter  might  lie  there  a 
long  time. 

On  this  day  she  received  an  epistle  directed 
with  such  extreme  care,  on  ruled  lines  on  the  en 
velope,  that  Rowena  stared  at  it  for  some  time 
before  she  opened  it.  She  had  never  seen  Philip 
Barrett's  handwriting  before.  She  was  surprised 
at  the  warmth  of  her  feeling  when  she  saw  his 
name.  But  the  letter  was  far  from  being  warm. 
It  had  evidently  been  composed  under  the  influ 
ence  of  a  determination  to  write  a  letter,  let  the 
consequences  be  what  they  might.  It  began, 
"Respected  friend,"  and  it  was  signed,  "Respect 
fully,  P.  Barrett."  It  bore  not  the  slightest  in 
ternal  evidence  as  to  whom  it  was  addressed. 

The  writer  related  every  particular  of  a  recent 
snow-storm  ;  gave  the  depth  of  the  snow  on  the 
level,  and  the  height  of  the  highest  bank.  He 
spoke  in  a  tone  of  considerable  awe  of  the  fact 
that  corn  had  risen  three  cents  a  bushel  within 
6 


82  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

the  last  week.  In  this  connection  he  stated  that 
wharf-rats  had  done  a  good  deal  of  damage  in 
the  corn -houses.  It  was  not  known  how  that 
kind  of  rats  had  come  so  far  inland.  The  writer 
had  shot  one.  He  was  still  lame  from  this  act, 
for  his  gun  was  an  old  one  and  had  never  been 
very  good,  and  had  kicked  considerably. 

All  throughout  the  epistle  the  author  of  it 
never  once  wrote  the  pronoun  "  I,"  but  always 
referred  to  himself  as  "  the  writer." 

At  the  conclusion  the  writer  hoped  that  he 
might  receive  an  early  reply. 

Rowena  smiled,  with  a  quiver  in  her  lip ;  then 
she  laughed  as  she  had  not  done  since  that  time, 
so  long  ago,  when  she  lived  at  home. 

She  wondered  how  long  it  had  taken  Philip  to 
compose  this  document.  She  could  guess  how 
arduously  he  had  worked  at  it.  And  he  had  not 
put  in  it  a  single  item  of  interest.  It  was  as  if 
he  had  started  with  the  idea  that  everything  that 
the  recipient  might  care  to  know  must  be  scru 
pulously  kept  out.  And  he  had  adhered  to  this 
idea  with  perfect  success.  He  had  not  even  men 
tioned  his  horses  and  his  two  setter  dogs,  and  he 
knew  how  Rowena  liked  them. 

The  average  bucolic  mind  of  New  England 
does  not  consider  the  art  of  familiar  composi 
tion  as  one  that  is  needful  in  this  life.  The 
average  bucolic  mind  is  very  stiff  in  the  joints 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  83 

when  contemplating  the  perpetration  of  an  epis 
tle  to  a  friend.  There  are  instances,  generally 
among  women,  where  one  is  able  to  "  reel  off  a 
letter  jest  as  easy;"  these  instances  are  looked 
upon  as  remarkable,  and  the  person  thus  gifted 
is  not  envied,  but  is  thought  to  have  an  extreme 
liability  to  shiftlessness.  The  connection  between 
shiftlessness  and  a  certain  " glibness "with  the  pen 
is  obscure,  but  powerful.  Philip  Barrett  had  not 
this  glibness,  and  he  was  not  shiftless. 

When  this  young  man  had  finished  this  article 
he  read  it  many  times,  and  copied  it  until  the 
words  ceased  to  mean  anything  to  him.  He  said 
to  himself  that  he  would  rather  mow  the  whole 
east  meadow  than  to  write  another  letter.  But 
he  knew  he  should  write  another  ;  he  knew  he 
should  feel  so  drawn  to  Rowena  Tuttle  that  he 
could  not  help  it.  The  perspiration  burst  from 
his  forehead  as  he  thought  of  another  attempt 
like  this  one. 

It  was  wonderful,  considering  the  power  it  re 
quired  to  inspire  this  man  to  write,  that  there 
should  be  no  sign  of  the  inspiration  in  the  re 
sult.  It  would  have  been  as  appropriate  to 
send  that  missive  to  old  Uncle  Lenas  Torrey  as 
to  Rowena. 

Philip's  mother  furtively  watched  the  progress 
of  the  composition.  Her  son  sat  at  his  father's 
old  desk  at  one  end  of  the  kitchen.  The  first 


84  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

evening  he  wrote  something  on  a  slate.  After 
a  great  deal  of  "  smooching  "  a  few  paragraphs 
were  let  to  stand  over  night,  and  were  carefully 
locked  in  a  drawer. 

Mrs.  Barrett  grew  very  weary  as  every  even 
ing  this  writing  was  continued.  One  night  her 
boy  seemed  to  be  so  nervous  that  she  silently 
steeped  some  catnip  and  offered  it  to  him.  It 
was  refused.  She  told  Eudory  Barnes  that  "  if 
Philup  didn't  git  his  letter  done  'fore  great  while 
she,  for  one,  should  go  ravin'  distracted." 

But  there  came  a  day  when  the  last  copy  was 
made  and  the  thing  was  put  in  the  post-office  at 
the  Corners.  Then  there  was  a  reaction.  Philip 
sat  as  if  half  alive  over  the  cook-stove  the  next 
evening.  He  was  picturing  Rowena  as  getting 
the  letter  and  reading  it  in  the  midst  of  luxury. 
He  had  a  nebulous  belief  that  all  people  in  cities 
lived  in  luxury.  This  thought  gave  him  very  un 
easy  feelings  concerning  Rowena.  If  she  forgot 
him,  it  should  not  be  because  he  did  not  write  to 
her.  Some  day  he  should  go  to  Boston  and  call 
upon  her.  But  not  yet.  He  had  not  got  round  to 
it  yet.  He  was  resolved  to  do  it,  though.  Mean 
while  he  could  be  thinking  about  it. 

Rowena,  sitting  by  her  little  stove,  and  forget 
ting  that  her  tea  was  boiling  on  the  lamp,  won 
dered  why  Philip's  unimportant  words  made  her, 
after  she  had  laughed,  feel  so  much  like  crying. 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  85 

She  allowed  her  tea  to  continue  boiling,  and 
wrote  to  him.  And  again  she  said  nothing  about 
the  city,  but  asked  a  score  of  questions  about  the 
country.  She  wanted  to  know  how  the  dogs  were, 
the  horses,  the  sleighing,  the  evening  meetings. 
She  hardly  knew  what  she  did  write,  only  that 
she  was  unusually  moved.  The  home  she  had 
left  seemed  so  remote,  but  so  unutterably  dear. 

She  heard  the  wind  and  the  snow  moaning 
around  her  window.  She  tried  to  drink  her  tea, 
but  it  was  bitter.  It  seemed  as  if  it  must  be  very 
late  in  the  evening.  She  looked  at  her  watch, 
and  found  it  to  be  half  after  seven.  By  this  time 
her  father  and  mother  had  been  sitting  a  good 
while  by  the  kitchen  stove.  Her  eldest  sister 
had  become  sleepy  over  her  "  sums  "  for  the  next 
day.  The  rest  had  gone  up-stairs  to  bed  in  the 
"  open  chamber,"  where  it  was  so  cold,  and  where 
the  snow  would  be  sifting  in. 

Rowena  started  up  and  began  frantically  walk 
ing  the  room  and  wringing  her  hands.  How  was 
she  to  bear  it?  What  should  she  do?  Again  she 
thought  of  the  slop  work  and  the  straw,  and  per 
haps  Georgie  Warner  would  speak  to  the  com 
mittee  about  getting  her  a  school. 

"Ain't  you  at  home?"  This  question  was 
asked  impatiently  outside  her  door.  When  the 
door  was  opened,  it  revealed  Mrs.  Jarvis  stand 
ing  there.  She  said  she  didn't  know  how  many 


86  ROWENY   IN   BOSTON. 

times  she  had  knocked.  Then  she  added,  with 
some  awe : 

"  You've  got  a  caller  down  in  the  parlor." 

"  It's  Uncle  Reuben  !    He  has  come  after  all !" 

Rowena  was  going  to  rush  by  her  hostess.  But 
a  hand  detained  her. 

"  'Tain't  your  Uncle  Reuben.  It's  a  lady.  I 
guess  she'll  be  tired  of  waiting." 

"  But  I  don't  know  any  lady." 

"  It's  that  Miss  Phillipps."  Mrs.  Jarvis  could 
hardly  have  told  why  she  always  employed  the 
demonstrative  adjective  pronoun  in  mentioning 
that  lady. 

In  her  mind  at  this  moment  two  emotions 
were  struggling — resentment  because  she  had 
just  been  snubbed  by  that  Miss  Phillipps,  and 
pride  that  this  woman  had  chosen  to  call  on  one 
of  her  lodgers. 

Rowena  ran  down  the  stairs.  By  this  time  she 
had  acquired  a  useful  dexterity  in  avoiding  the 
holes  in  the  stair  carpet.  As  she  went  she  wished 
she  were  not  quite  so  glad  of  this  visit.  Her  com 
mon-sense  told  her  that  it  was  a  perilous  attrac 
tion  which  she  felt.  Miss  Phillipps  fancied  to 
take  her  up  ;  by-and-by  she  would  set  her  down. 
Entirely  inexperienced  as  she  was,  Rowena  had 
this  fear  strongly;  she  could  not  have  told  why; 
perhaps  something  intangible  in  the  lady's  pres 
ence  itself  gave  it  to  her. 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  87 

The  visitor  stood  beneath  the  one  gas  light. 
The  long,  close  fur  cloak  and  small  bonnet,  the 
thick  fluff  of  hair,  thin  face  and  vivid  eyes,  made 
a  picture  which  Rowena's  glance  took  in  eagerly. 
She  liked  it.  It  stirred  her  pulses.  It  was  new 
and  strange.  The  lady  was  not  pretty,  but  she 
had  grace  and  lovely  clothes  and  savoir-vivre, 
and,  above  all,  she  showed  her  interest  in  her 
new  acquaintance. 

Miss  Phillipps  stepped  forward  quickly.  She 
held  out  both  her  hands.  She  wore  gloves  which 
fitted  as  Rowena  had  never  known  gloves  to  fit. 

"  I'm  glad  you  have  come,"  exclaimed  Miss 
Phillipps.  "  Five  minutes  more  in  this  room 
would  have  made  me  insane.  Why  do  they  al 
ways  have  the  trial  of  Effie  Deans  in  such  a 
place  as  this  ?  And  that  dreadful  portrait  of 
a  'Spirit  Friend?'  Won't  you  ask  me  up  to 
your  own  room  ?  However  dreadful  it  is,  it 
can't  be  so  bad  as  this.  You  will  have  diffused 
an  atmosphere  in  it.  It  isn't  because  the  furni 
ture  is  poor.  I  hope  you  don't  think  I  care  a 
rap  for  that  kind  of  thing.  I'm  not  so  low  as 
that.  It  is —  '  here  the  speaker  gave  a  little 
shudder,  "  it  is  the  feeling  of  it  —  as  if  it  had 
held  so  many  commonplace  people  in  it,  and 
they  had  all  left  their  impress.  I  suppose  the 
walls  are  covered  with  invisible  portraits  of  dull 
folks.  You  know  there's  a  theory  that  the  walls 


88  ROVVENY    IN    BOSTON. 

of  houses  retain  pictures  of  every  scene  which 
has  been  enacted  within  them.  Some  day  some 
thing  will  be  discovered  that  will  bring  out  all 
those  impressions.  It  will  be  an  awful  day.  I've 
been  looking  into  that.  It  is  quite  bewitching." 

As  she  talked  in  her  careful,  rapid  way,  Miss 
Phillipps  continued  to  hold  Rowena's  hands  close 
ly.  Now  she  looked  at  her  keenly,  curiously. 

"  You  have  been  crying,"  she  asserted.  "  What 
a  pale  face  you  have !  And  what  a  curious  little 
quiver  in  the  right  side  of  your  upper  lip.  You 
would  cry  again,  now,  if  I  were  not  here.  Please 
do  take  me  to  your  room.  If  I  stay  here  I  shall 
be  very  disagreeable ;  and  I  feel  as  if  I  could  be 
quite  the  reverse  if  you  will  make  the  conditions 
right." 

Rowena  spoke  for  the  first  time.  She  said 
"  Come,"  and  the  two  went  up  the  stairs. 

Miss  Phillipps  cast  a  rapid  glance  about  her. 
She  sighed. 

"  This  is  better.  Any  place  where  you  stayed 
would  be  better.  I'm  going  to  take  off  my  cloak. 
I  told  the  driver  not  to  come  for  an  hour.  Do 
you  mind  unfastening  this  upper  clasp  ?  Thanks." 

Rowena  put  the  cloak  on  her  bed.  Her  guest 
did  not  seat  herself  immediately.  She  stood, 
slowly  removing  her  gloves. 

She  looked  almost  continuously  at  the  girl,  and 
her  face  grew  softer  and  softer,  until  Rowena 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  89 

wondered  why  she  had  ever  thought  it  disdain 
ful. 

"  Will  you  allow  me  to  kiss  you  ?" 

The  question  was  unexpected,  but  it  should 
not  have  been  so,  as  it  was  in  keeping  with  the 
expression  of  the  speaker's  countenance. 

Rowena  smiled  and  came  nearer.  The  lady's 
lips  touched  hers  gently.  Then  she  sat  down  in 
the  little  rocker  close  to  the  bit  of  a  stove,  and 
Rowena  drew  up  a  chair  near  her.  How  very 
strange  it  was  to  the  girl.  She  knew  that  her 
guest  had  spoken  truth  when  she  had  just  said 
she  could  be  very  agreeable  if  the  conditions  were 
right.  Evidently  they  were  right.  Although  Miss 
Phillipps  sat  silent  for  a  few  moments,  she  seem 
ed  to  radiate  satisfaction  and  enjoyment ;  when 
a  person  produces  such  an  effect  that  person  is 
usually  agreeable. 

Miss  Phillipps's  feet  were  stretched  out  tow 
ards  the  stove ;  she  leaned  far  back  in  her  chair, 
her  hands,  which  to-day  were  ringlcss,  hanging  at 
each  side  of  her.  Although  she  sat  in  such  a 
position,  she  could  not  look  indolent. 

Rowena  waited  for  her  to  speak.  At  last  she 
made  this  remark : 

"  We  are  weeding  out  our  Browning  Club." 


go  ROWENY   IN    BOSTON. 


VII. 

SOME   SALESLADIES. 

ROWENA  tried  to  look  interested  in  the  fact 
that  a  Browning  Club  was,  as  her  father  would 
have  put  it,  "  bein'  wed  out,"  like  a  bed  of  pars 
nips.  The  country  girl  could  not  have  believed 
it  possible  that  that  great  man's  name  could  be 
mentioned  so  flippantly,  not  to  say  disrespect 
fully.  She  did  not  know  how  to  make  any  re 
sponse  to  such  a  remark.  She  did  not  know  that 
in  Boston  nothing  is  so  great  but  one  may  be 
come  familiar  with  it. 

She  had  once  belonged  to  the  book-club  which 
led  a  struggling  and  doubtful  existence  in  Mid 
dle  Village.  She  had  then  taken  out  a  volume 
of  poems  called  Men  and  Women.  She  had  read 
"One  Word  More  "with  ardent  eyes  and  beating 
heart.  She  should  always  remember  the  author's 
name. 

"  They  were  getting  insufferable,"  went  on  Miss 
Phillipps.  "Several  of  them  pretended  to  under 
stand  him.  I  decided  to  form  a  new  club  and 
drop  those  creatures." 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON'.  91 

"  Why  shouldn't  they  understand  him  ?"  asked 
Rowena,  calmly.  "  I  think  he  is  real  easy." 

Miss  Phillipps  suddenly  sat  upright.  She 
turned  a  confounded  face  towards  her  compan 
ion. 

"  Well,  you  are  delicious !"  she  said,  more  slow 
ly  than  she  usually  spoke. 

Rowena  reddened  with  anger.  For  some  rea 
son  she  did  not  find  it  agreeable  to  be  called  de 
licious. 

Miss  Phillipps  seemed  to  wish  she  had  some 
kind  of  a  glass  with  which  to  examine  the  girl. 
At  last  she  became  conscious  of  what  she  was 
doing.  She  withdrew  her  eyes.  She  laughed, 
noiselessly,  but  with  intense  enjoyment.  She 
put  out  her  hand  and  took  Rovvena's  reluctant, 
cold  fingers. 

"  Do  forgive  me  !"  she  said,  pleadingly.  "  But 
what  can  I  do  before  one  who  finds  Browning 
'real  easy?'  What  have  you  read  of  his?" 

Rowena  told  her,  stiffly. 

-  Miss  Phillipps  suddenly  became  warmly  caress 
ing,  and  the  girl's  anger  melted  before  that  man 
ner. 

"  I  always  think  of  what  Jo  Gargery  said  about 
reading, '  When  you  do  come  to  a  J  and  a  o,  how 
interestin'  readin'  is  !'  When  you  do  understand 
Browning,  he  is  divine.  And  what  should  we  do 
here  in  Borston  without  him  ?  We  can  have  a 


92  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

go  at  Psychic  Research,  Christian  Science,  and  no 
end  of  things ;  you  think  you  can  see  your  way 
into  them,  but  there's  always  Browning.  No,  we 
couldn't  get  along  here  without  him.  Mr.  Hern- 
don  said  at  our  last  meeting  that  he  didn't  think 
life  would  be  worth  living  when  he  was  once 
convinced  that  he  understood  '  Sordello.'  There 
would  be  no  object.  I  don't  feel  precisely  like 
that,  but  still—" 

Miss  Phillipps's  gaze  came  back  from  what  she 
would  have  called  "  the  ail-where,"  and  rested  on 
Rowena  for  a  moment  in  silence.  Her  next  re 
mark  was  so  unexpected  that  the  girl  felt  help 
less  before  it. 

"  I  have  the  dearest  little  seal-skin  jacket,"  said 
she.  Then  she  added,  "  but  it  doesn't  fit  me 
across  the  shoulders." 

As  she  spoke  her  eyes  rested  on  Rowena's 
shoulders  in  an  interrogative  manner.  She  went 
on.  "  How  did  you  get  a  dress  to  look  like  that  ? 
It  is  really  chic.  That  must  be  a  miraculous  coun 
try  from  which  you  came.  Who  is  your  dress 
maker  ?" 

Rowena  laughed. 

"  Marthy  S.  is  the  dress -maker  in  our  dccs- 
trict,"  she  answered,  with  a  drawl.  "  She  can  cut 
coats  and  pantaloons,  too.  She's  bound  to  git 
a  fit." 

The  girl  laughed   again,  and  then   grew  sud- 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  93 

denly  sober,  as  the  picture  of  the  lonely,  snow- 
covered  fields,  the  narrow  sleigh-track,  the  mel 
ancholy  houses,  came  vividly  to  her  mind. 

As  for  Miss  Phillipps,  she  felt  as  if  she  had  an 
entirely  new  specimen  of  humanity  before  her; 
and  she  exulted  accordingly.  This  was  not  her 
idea  of  a  country  girl  at  all ;  and  yet  she  was 
keen  enough  to  take  in,  as  if  it  were  a  delightful 
odor,  the  innocence,  the  utterly  unsophisticated 
nature  with  which  she  was  now  in  contact.  She 
also  felt  that  she  had  discovered  Rowena,  and 
she  had  a  pleasing  and  decided  consciousness 
that,  so  far  as  the  girl  proved  interesting,  she 
was  in  some  sense  not  only  the  discoverer,  but 
the  author,  the  proprietor. 

"  Marthy  S.  not  only  got  a  fit,  she  got  more — an 
air — in  this  instance, "said  Miss  Phillipps.  "  She 
ought  to  come  to  Borston.  If  there  is  anything 
Borston  needs  it  is  style.  She  has  brains  enough. 
If  we  can  only  combine  brains  and  style,  we  shall 
have  the  most  delightful  result  in  the  world. 
Now  I  know  a  New  York  woman  if  I  only  catch 
a  glimpse  of  the  hem  of  her  gown  ;  there's  a 
something  about  that  hem  that  tells  the  whole 
story.  But  the  chances  are  that  the  owner  of 
the  gown  has  never  heard  of  Madame  Blavatsky, 
or  if  she  has,  she  thinks  madame  is  some  kind  of 
a  milliner." 

Miss  Phillipps  resumed  her  lounging  position 


94  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

in  the  very  unadaptable  chair  furnished  by  Mrs. 
Jarvis  to  her  top-story  lodgers. 

Rowena  blushed  as  she  said  that  she  did  not 
employ  Marthy  S. ;  she  cut  and  made  her  own 
dresses.  She  found  she  had  kind  of  a  knack,  and 
so  she  had  saved  some  money  that  way. 

"  Oh,"  said  the  other,  "  it  is  what  you  call  a 
knack,  is  it  ?  And  that  soft  hat  you  wear  ?  Is 
that  a  knack,  too  ?" 

"  I  guess  'tis.     Do  you  like  it?"  timidly. 

"I  adore  it." 

There  was  silence  after  this.  There  was  a 
somewhat  beatified  expression  on  the  elder  wom 
an's  face  as  she  rested  her  head  on  the  back  of 
her  chair.  Perhaps  she  explained  this  by  saying, 
presently,  with  a  deep  drawn  breath : 

"  I  knew  I  should  like  your  atmosphere." 

Rowena  had  never  had  her  atmosphere  praised 
by  any  one  else,  and  she  felt  somewhat  confused. 
She  did  not  attempt  any  response. 

In  a  moment  Miss  Phillipps  said : 

"  Did  I  mention  my  seal-skin  jacket  ?" 

"  Yes,"  responded  Rowena,  wonderingly.  She 
even  thought  there  was  some  embarrassment  now 
in  her  guest's  manner. 

"  May  I  show  it  to  you  ?" 

"  Why,  of  course,"  still  more  wonderingly. 

Miss  Phillipps  rose. 

"•How  do  you  ring  here?" 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  95 

"  We  don't  ring ;  we  go  out  in  the  hall  and 
scream  down  the  stair -way.  It  is  like  calling 
down  a  well,  for  nobody  hears." 

"  I  certainly  shouldn't  scream  down  this  stair 
way  just  for  amusement." 

Rowena  had  opened  the  door,  and  the  two 
stood  in  the  gloom  of  the  upper  hall.  Miss  Phil- 
lipps  thought  she  could  feel  her  garments  becom 
ing  saturated  with  the  combined  odors  of  the 
place.  She  wondered  what  her  lungs  thought  of 
the  air,  and  how  long  they  would  take  it  in  be 
fore,  in  the  language  of  the  day, "  they  went  on 
strike  ?" 

"  Where  is  the  jacket  ?"  asked  Rowena,  inno 
cently. 

"  In  a  box  in  the  carriage.  Can't  you  get  a 
servant  to  go  out  and  get  it?" 

The  girl  disappeared  down  the  stairs.  The 
lady  left  standing  there  felt  a  sense  of  unreason 
able  disappointment  at  Rowena's  alacrity ;  and 
when  the  girl  came  back  with  the  box  in  her 
hand  and  a  sprinkling  of  storm  on  her  face  and 
hair,  Miss  Phillipps  was  suddenly  very  cold  in 
deed  in  her  manner. 

Rowena  felt  the  change  instantly.  The  two 
entered  the  room  in  silence.  Miss  Phillipps  took 
the  jacket  from  the  box.  She  said  it  was  too 
loose  for  her ;  she  had  a  curiosity  to  see  it  on 
Rowena;  and  she  helped  the  girl  to  put  it  on. 


96  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

An  irrepressible  exclamation  of  pleasure  came 
from  Rowena  as  she  saw  a  portion  of  herself  in 
the  little  mirror.  Miss  Phillipps  seemed  to  stiff 
en  still  more. 

"  Would  you  like  to  wear  it  ?"  she  asked,  icily. 

Rowena  turned  towards  her  with  a  radiant  face. 

"  I  would  like  to  wear  one  like  it,"  she  said, 
eagerly  ;  "  it  fits  exactly." 

She  seemed  loath  to  take  it  off. 

"  It  will  give  me  pleasure  if  you  will  wear  this 
one,"  remarked  Miss  Phillipps,  in  a  stately  man 
ner. 

It  was  now  Rowena's  turn  to  stiffen.  She  re 
moved  the  garment  and  laid  it  on  the  bed. 

It  was  odd  that  Miss  Phillipps  should  look  re 
lieved.  She  had  brought  the  jacket  expressly 
that  she  might  give  it  to  this  girl. 

''Will  you  not  oblige  me,"  she  asked.  There 
was  something  almost  dramatic  in  the  way  in 
which  Rowena  turned  to  her  companion. 

"  You  meant  it  as  a  present  ?"  she  inquired. 

"Yes." 

"Thank  you  very  much.  I'm  sorry  you  thought 
that  way  of  me.  I  have — a  shawl — "  here  the 
proud  young  voice  began  to  tremble.  "  I  know 
it  isn't  pretty,  but  it  keeps  me  warm,  and  I've 
got  to  wear  it.  I  sha'n't  take  your  jacket.  I 
do  wish  you  hadn't  offered  it  to  me.  I  do 
wish—" 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  97 

Here  the  voice  stopped  altogether.  Rowena 
stood  very  straight.  But  she  hung  her  head. 

Miss  Phillipps  put  her  hands  behind  her.  She 
seemed  to  put  them  there  to  be  sure  that  they 
should  not  touch  Rowena.  It  was  plainly  no 
time  to  touch  her  now. 

"  The  moths  will  eat  the  jacket,"  said  she, 
smiling. 

"Let  them,"  responded  the  other,  still  with  her 
head  down. 

"  But  I  also  am  not  without  New  England 
thrift ;  I  hate  to  see  things  destroyed." 

No  answer.  Rowena  gave  a  side  glance  at  the 
jacket.  Then  she  turned  her  back  more  decided 
ly  upon  it. 

"  What  if  I  should  leave  it  here  while  you  think 
about  it?"  suggested  Miss  Phillipps.  "Where  is 
the  disgrace  in  your  acting  as  a  sort  of  package 
of  camphor  and  tobacco  in  regard  to  this  fur  jack 
et?  Consider  yourself  merely  as  an  animated 
anti-moth  packet." 

"No." 

A  deep  sigh  followed  this  monosyllable. 

Miss  Phillipps's  spirits  were  rapidly  rising. 

"Why  not  oblige  me?" 

But  Rowena  did  not  feel  that  she  could  com 
mand  her  voice  sufficiently  to  try  to  say  any 
thing. 

The   owner  of  the   garment  now  rapidly  re- 

7 


98  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

turned  it  to  the  box.  The  odor  of  camphor  was 
very  strong  in  the  little  room. 

Miss  Phillipps  went  close  to  the  girl.  She 
looked  at  her  a  moment  in  silence,  and  the  high 
bred,  somewhat  mocking  face  softened  a  good 
deal. 

"  Since  you  will  not  wear  that,  will  you  do 
something  else  for  me?" 

Rowena  lifted  her  eyes  to  the  face  before  her. 
She  clasped  her  hands  and  said,  fervently : 

"Oh  yes!" 

"Will  you  join  our  new  Browning  Club?" 

The  moment  she  had  made  this  request  Miss 
Phillipps  did  not  know  how  she  was  going  to 
live  up  to  it ;  but  she  would  not  be  so  weak  as 
to  withdraw  it. 

Rowena's  first  emotion  was  one  of  thankful 
ness  that  she  could  know  something  further  of 
the  man  who  wrote  "  One  Word  More."  So  she 
said  "Yes,"  Avith  effusion. 

But  when  her  visitor  was  gone  and  she  sat 
alone,  and  the  wind  and  sleet  beat  on  the  win 
dow,  she  wondered  at  herself  that  she  had  obeyed 
any  such  impulse.  Of  course  she  could  not  go. 
She  wished  she  had  never  seen  Miss  Phillipps. 
It  was  horrible  to  have  a  glimpse  of  lovely  things. 
No,  she  would  not  go.  What  a  wretch  she  must 
be,  that  she  could  not  help  thinking  of  that  jack 
et  !  She  found  it  so  difficult  to  put  it  out  of  her 


ROWENY   IN    BOSTON.  99 

mind  that  she  resorted  to  the  desperate  remedy 
of  going  down  into  the  parlor  to  see  Mrs.  Jarvis. 

The  supper  hour  was  long  since  over.  She 
was  greatly  astonished  to  find  Ferdinand  Foster 
and  three  or  four  girls  engaged  in  shrill  laugh 
ter.  Mrs.  Jarvis  was  not  there.  Rowena  made 
a  quick  backward  movement  and  would  have  re 
treated  up  the  stairs,  but  one  of  the  girls  ran  for 
ward  and  caught  her  hand,  crying  out  in  the 
sharp  voice  that  one  hears  so  much  in  the  east 
wind  here  —  perhaps  it  is  the  east  wind  which 
makes  the  voice : 

"  Now  don't  you  go  to  runnin'  right  away,  's  if 
you  was  too  good  to  stay  here.  Lemme  intro 
duce  ye  to  the  rest.  We've  got  an  off  night. 
'Twas  so  horrid  stormy  we  finally  concluded  to 
stay  here  'n'  try  high  jinks  in  this  old  parlor.  Mr. 
Foster  got  Mrs.  Jarvis  to  say  we  might  have  the 
room.  I'm  sure  I  d'know  what  we  should  do 
without  Mr.  Foster.  There  ain't  hardly  any  gen- 
tlemun  that's  ever  at  leisure.  They're  jest  bound 
up  in  business.  We  ladies  have  to  git  along  with 
precious  little  of  gentlemun's  society.  I  tell  the 
other  ladies  I  guess  I  shall  go  West.  They  say 
ladies  are  so  scarce  out  there  that  the  gentleman 
crowd  up  to  the  deepo  when  the  trains  come  in, 
and  jest  pop  the  question  as  the  ladies  step  out 
the  cars.  So  you  see  they're  engaged  before  they 
leave  the  deepo.  Now  that's  what  I  call  an  in- 


100  ROWENY   IN    BOSTON. 

terestin'  country  to  live  in.  What's  Borston  to 
that?" 

Shrieks  of  laughter  greeted  these  words,  which 
were  so  rapidly  spoken  that  they  almost  seemed 
one  long  word  of  many  syllables.  Rowena  could 
not  help  laughing,  though  she  felt  shy  and  in 
definably  disgusted.  She  reproved  herself  for 
being  disgusted.  These  were  working-girls.  She 
was  a  working-girl  herself. 

She  was  introduced  quickly  by  the  girl  who 
had  appointed  herself  her  guide,  and  who  was  at 
tired  in  a  black  dress  so  tight  that  it  was  only  by 
a  constantly  renewed  miracle  she  could  breathe. 
She  had  a  small  face,  that  made  Rowena  think  of 
a  weasel  her  father  had  caught  in  a  trap  set  near 
a  chicken -coop.  She  gave  the  country  girl  an 
impression  that  she  would  say  something  decid 
edly  vulgar  the  next  time  she  opened  her  lips, 
and  she  was  continually  opening  her  lips.  But 
there  was  a  kind  of  good-humor  about  her  which 
prevented  Rowena  from  positively  hating  her. 

One  of  the  company  patronizingly  asked  if 
Rowena  were  learning  to  color  photographs,  and 
if  she  were  going  to  be  paid  by  the  hour  or  the 
piece,  advising  strongly  that  she  try  to  be  paid 
by  the  piece.  She  herself  had  tried  the  "touch- 
ing-up  business,"  as  she  called  it.  She  had  tried 
'most  everything.  She  was  now  in  R.  H.  Black's 
dry-goods.  She'd  about  as  lives  be  a  saleslady 


ROWENY   IN    BOSTON.  IOI 

's  anything.  If  you  felt  cross  you  could  snub 
folks  no  end. 

Here  some  one  across  the  room,  who  had  been 
examining  the  speaker  with  the  greatest  interest, 
suddenly  shouted : 

"  Mattie,  seems  to  me  you've  been  trimming 
your  bangs,  ain't  you  ?" 

The  girl  who  had  been  talking  with  Rowena 
quickly  put  her  hand  to  her  forehead. 

"  No,  I  ain't  trimmed  um  ;  I  ain't  combed  um 
half  out.  I  was  kind  of  saving  um  ;  I  didn't 
know  but  somebody  might  ask  me  to  the  the 
atre  to-night." 

Here  she  gave  such  a  look  at  young  Foster 
that  there  was  another  universal  shriek  of  laugh 
ter.  Some  one  clapped  her  hands  and  cried : 

"  That's  right !     Give  it  to  him  !" 

Foster  looked  irritated.  He  had  looked  so 
ever  since  Rowena's  entrance.  He  did  not 
come  near  her,  but  he  appeared  to  find  it  diffi 
cult  to  keep  his  eyes  from  her  face. 

He  was  standing  by  the  mantel  in  front  of  the 
register.  His  face  was  almost  sulky.  His  hands 
were  thrust  far  down  in  his  pockets.  He  was 
wondering  what  kind  of  an  ass  Miss  Tuttle  would 
think  he  was.  Perhaps  she  would  not  think  of 
him  at  all ;  that  would  be  worse  still. 

"Ain't  there  no  other  gentlemun  coming?" 
asked  a  new  voice.  "  I  thought  you  said  you 


102  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

had  two  friends  that  were  coming  to-night,  Mr. 
Foster.  I  might  just  as  well  have  stayed  in  my 
own  room  and  had  a  nap." 

Again  every  one  laughed.  There  were  peals 
of  laughter  apparently  every  time  anybody 
spoke.  Mr.  Foster  grinned.  He  replied  that 
perhaps  his  friends  had  found  a  place  where  the 
girls  were  prettier. 

In  the  hilarity  excited  by  this  remark  the 
door-bell  rang  violently.  The  girl  who  had  wel 
comed  Rowena  ran  to  open  it.  She  admitted 
two  young  men  in  rough  ulsters  with  the  great 
collars  turned  up  above  their  ears.  A  burst  of 
laughter  immediately  filled  the  narrow  hall. 

Mr.  Foster  remained  in  the  parlor.  He  turned 
towards  Rowena,  who  was  looking  on  in  a  kind 
of  benumbed  attention. 

"  I  s'pose  you  think  we're  a  set  of  wild  beasts, 
don't  you,  Miss  Tuttle  ?" 

She  smiled  at  her  questioner.  He  appeared 
so  depressed  that  she  wished  to  cheer  him.  And 
it  was  quite  remarkable  how  much  cheered  he 
was  immediately. 

"  Only  wild  beasts  don't  laugh,"  she  said. 

He  laughed  now  so  delightedly  that  she  was 
surprised.  He  became  animated. 

"  A  set  of  idiots,  then,"  he  said.  "  But  we're 
really  rather  of  a  good  sort,  only  not  deep,  you 
know.  Don't  you  go  and  run  away  from  us. 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  1 03 

We  ain't  going  to  have  a  sea-ants.  Major  Stan- 
ger  won't  be  here.  My  aunt's  got  a  sea-ants  up 
on  Harrison  Avenoo  to-night,  and  I  guess  the 
major  '11  be  there.  Anyway,  he  won't  be  here. 
Do  stay;  we  fellows  have  ordered  some  oysters 
'n'  ice-cream  to  be  brought  in  about  ten.  I 
wanted  awfully  to  ask  you,  but  I  couldn't  get  a 
glimpse  of  you,  for  all  I've  tried  so  hard.  I 
thought  my  aunt  would  have  called  on  you  be 
fore  this.  She  was  quite  taken  with  you.  She 
said"  —here  young  Foster  stopped  to  laugh 
again — "she  said  she  thought  you'd  develop  into 
the  best  medyum  there  was  in  Borston.  And 
that  is  saying  a  good  deal,  for  Borston  is  just 
stuffed  with  medyums.  What  ain't  Christian 
Scientists  and  Buddhists,  and  all  that,  don't  you 
know,  are  medyums.  You've  got  to  be  one  or 
the  other  if  you  live  here.  Which  shall  you 
choose  ?" 

Ferd  Foster's  appearance  had  become  so  cheer 
ful,  not  to  say  happy,  that  he  did  not  look  like 
the  same  youth  Rowena  had  seen  when  she  first 
came  down-stairs  that  evening.  She  did  not  say 
she  would  stay,  but  she  lingered  until  the  oysters 
and  cream  were  brought  in  from  "  a  caperer's  " 
on  Washington  Street.  This  was  Foster's  joke, 
and  it  was  laughed  at  with  an  abandon  that  re 
newed  itself  and  began  afresh  ;  and  when  Foster 
said  gravely  that  he  knew  they'd  find  the  oysters 


104  ROWENY   IN   BOSTON. 

good,  for  he  was  very  particular  as  to  who  ca 
pered  to  him,  the  girl  with  the  wasp  waist  went 
into  such  convulsions  of  laughter  that  Rowena 
was  really  alarmed.  She  had  known  one  girl  at 
home  who,  in  the  neighborhood  parties,  had  be 
come  celebrated  as  a  "  trainer,"  but  secretly  Ro 
wena  was  convinced  that  this  Miss  Martin  was 
the  greatest  trainer  she  had  ever  seen. 

It  was  after  eleven  o'clock  before  the  salesla 
dies  went  to  their  lodging-rooms.  These  rooms 
were  close  by.  Poor,  little,  chilly  rooms  they 
were,  too.  The  young  men  walked  away  with 
them.  Rowena  could  still  hear  them  training, 
as  they  went  along  the  narrow  sidewalk;  their 
piercing  laughter  came  back  to  her  on  the  cold  air. 

Mrs.  Jarvis  came  out  of  the  back  parlor,  where 
she  had  just  pulled  out  her  folding-bed  and 
spread  the  sheets  on  it.  She  looked  so  weary 
that  again  Rowe'na  helped  her  "  trig  up "  the 
parlor. 

The  landlady  did  not  seem  to  think  there  had 
been  any  unusual  noise.  She  made  the  startling 
remark  that  young  folks  would  be  young  folks, 
and  she  s'posed  they  must  take  their  good  times 
when  they  could  get  'em. 

I  hope  no  one  will  think  any  the  less  of  Ro 
wena  if  I  record  that  the  last  clear  image  in  her 
mind  before  she  fell  asleep  was  the  image  of  her 
self  in  that  seal-skin  jacket. 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  105 


VIII. 

PHILIP'S  VISIT. 

ROWENA  was  hurrying  down  Tremont  Street. 
She  had  been  up  since  six  o'clock.  At  twenty 
minutes  after  that  hour  she  had  drunk  her  coffee 
and  eaten  a  baker's  roll.  If  she  had  been  at 
home  she  would  have  given  the  roll  to  the  chick 
ens.  It  had  never  been  good,  and  now  it  was 
stale.  Having  eaten  it,  it  remained  not  only 
heavily  present  in  the  digestive  tract,  but  in  her 
mind  also.  She  kept  thinking  how  poor  it  had 
been,  and  how  good  her  mother's  hot  biscuit  al 
ways  were.  She  thought  she  must  need  some 
thoroughwort  or  sarsaparilla,  now  it  had  become 
spring.  She  felt,  as  her  uncle  Reuben  had  said, 
"  kind  of  pindlin'." 

On  his  last  trip  to  Boston  he  had  attempted 
to  bring  in  a  squash-pie  as  an  offering  from  his 
wife  to  Rowena.  The  attempt  had  resulted  in 
the  most  disastrous  failure.  When  it  arrived  it 
was  "jest  pig's  victuals,"  as  he  said,  ruefully.  It 
was  eventually  gathered  up  in  the  public  cart 
which  stopped  at  Mrs.  Jarvis's. 


106  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

But  the  home-made  sausages,  and  the  "  souse," 
and  the  gingerbread  from  the  Tuttle  homestead 
came  in  good  condition.  Rowena  cried  over 
them,  even  over  the  souse.  She  ate  them  thank 
fully.  They  were  gone  now.  But  the  letter 
accompanying  them  remained.  It  was  a  joint 
production  of  all  the  Tuttle  family.  By  this 
statement  I  do  not  mean  that  it  was  long. 
These  people  could  not  express  themselves  with 
pen  and  paper.  The  most  terse  statement  of 
facts  was  presented.  One  sister  announced  that 
it  was  believed  that  "  Georgie  Warner  had  got  a 
beau.  He  worked  winters  in  the  factory  at  Mid 
dle  Village.  He  had  red  hair.  He  was  called  a 
likely  man." 

Rowena  thought  this  might  account  for  Geor- 
gie's  remissness  in  writing.  Another  sister  wrote 
that  "  Philip  Barrett's  gray  horse  had  died  of  the 
botts." 

Rowena  could  repeat  the  entire  epistle  from 
beginning  to  end.  She  was  doing  so  as  she 
walked  now.  She  had  come  out  for  a  long  tramp 
before  it  was  time  to  go  to  the  studio.  As  she 
approached  that  place  she  was  thinking  of  her 
mother's  counsel  that  she  "  should  be  sure  and 
not  work  too  hard." 

With  her  mother's  words  in  her  mind,  and 
with  their  effect  in  her  face,  making  it  soft  and 
tremulous,  she  paused  as  an  object  fell  at  her 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  1 07 

feet.  She  had  not  been  noticing  anything 
around  her.  Mechanically  she  picked  up  the 
object,  a  short,  cane-like  whip,  such  as  she  had 
seen  in  the  hands  of  horseback  riders.  At  the 
same  moment  a  voice  above  her  said  : 

"Oh,  it  is  Miss  Tuttle !  Thanks,"  for  Rowe- 
na  gave  the  whip  into  Miss  Phillipps's  hand. 
"  Don't  dismount,  Keats  ;  there  is  no  need." 

Now  Rowena  saw  the  two  riders,  Miss  Phil- 
lipps  and  a  gentleman,  who  lifted  his  hat  while 
he  looked  at  the  girl  rather  more  markedly  than 
was  necessary  for  the  polite  salutation  of  a 
stranger. 

As  for  the  country  girl,  still  quivering  with 
her  thoughts  of  home  and  the  beloved  ones 
there,  the  sight  of  these  two,  mounted  on  glossy 
horses,  dressed  scrupulously,  with  the  indescriba 
ble  air  of  wealth  and  leisure  and  refinement,  the 
sight  of  them  was  like  a  picture,  not  as  if  they 
were  living  human  beings.  Rowena  felt  remote. 
She  hardly  responded  to  Miss  Phillipps's  words. 

The  two  rode  on.  Again  the  gentleman  raised 
his  hat.  Miss  Phillipps  waved  her  hand  and 
smiled. 

Something  bitter  and  rebellious  rose  in  Rowe- 
na's  heart.  It  was  still  there  when  she  reached 
the  studio,  and  she  was  late.  Breathless,  flushed, 
she  walked  in  among  the  class  of  young  ladies. 
The  model  was  already  posing.  Allestree  was 


I08  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

moving  up  and  down  the  long  room  after  his 
manner,  with  his  big  beard  held  in  his  left  hand. 

Hurriedly  Rowena  took  her  customary  place. 
She  arranged  her  brushes.  She  looked  at  the 
model,  who  was  a  young  girl  with  arms  and 
bust  undraped  that  they  might  be  studied  and 
copied. 

Rowena's  hands  trembled.  She  had  walked 
too  far  and  too  fast,  and  she  had  not  yet  become 
accustomed  to  the  idea  of  a  model — at  least,  not 
a  model  like  this.  The  girl's  face,  as  she  stood 
there,  with  all  those  eyes  upon  her,  was  as  inex 
pressive  as  a  bit  of  wood. 

Allestree  sometimes  walked  up  to  her  and 
slightly  touched  her  neck  or  arm  as  he  spoke 
of  some  muscle  that  must  be  well  brought  out. 
Every  time  he  did  so  Rowena  shrank  and  her 
lips  quivered — that  is,  at  first.  After  a  time  she 
forgot  that  her  model  was  alive.  The  spirit  of 
her  work  had  entered  into  her. 

It  was  not  until  the  class  broke  up  and  she 
was  putting  on  that  despised  shawl  that  she 
again  thought  of  the  two  she  had  seen  on  the 
street.  She  envied  them.  As  she  descended  the 
broad  marble  stairs,  which  no  longer  overawed 
her  with  their  grandeur,  she  said,  aloud  : 

"Yes,  I  envy  them.  How  mean  I  must  be  to 
feel  like  that !" 

She  was  recalling  the  man's  face,  which  bore 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  1 09 

a  slight  family  resemblance  to  that  of  Miss  Phil- 
lipps.  There  had  been  a  monocle  in  the  right 
eye,  and  Rovvena  strongly  resented  the  effect 
it  gave.  She  had  childishly  wished  to  strike  it 
out.  She  did  not  believe  there  was  any  need 
of  it. 

Miss  Phillipps  was  getting  careless  about  com 
ing  to  the  studio.  Her  group  of  Indian-pipes  on 
their  moss-bed  had  not  grown  of  late. 

Instead  of  going  to  her  room,  Rowena  wan 
dered  across  the  Common  and  out  towards  the 
Public  Gardens.  She  was  senselessly  irritated 
and  despondent.  Her  art  was  drudgery. 

She  did  not  see  that  many  people  turned  to 
look  back  at  her.  The  ugly  shawl  could  not  hide 
the  springing  grace  and  style  of  her  carriage.  She 
did  not  see  some  one  coming  hesitatingly  down 
the  walk  that  led  from  the  direction  of  the  State 
House.  She  had  just  decided  in  her  own  mind 
that  the  gentleman  with  Miss  Phillipps  was  the 
same  she  had  once  seen  in  the  lady's  carriage, 
when  a  hesitating,  almost  deprecating,  voice  said  : 

"Ain't  that  you,  Roweny?" 

She  paused  suddenly,  the  color  leaving  her  face 
in  the  excess  of  her  surprise.  It  was  almost  as 
if  she  had  looked  in  at  the  old  kitchen  at  home 
to  hear  that  slow,  nasal  tone. 

She  held  out  her  hands,  impulsively. 

"  Oh,  Philip  !"  she  exclaimed. 


110  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

Young  Barrett  could  now  hardly  speak  from 
sheer  joy  at  the  greeting  given.  Of  course  he 
was  sufficiently  masculine  in  his  appreciation  of 
himself  to  feel  that  it  was  her  gladness  at  seeing 
him.  He  could  not  suspect  that  all  the  happi 
ness  and  freedom  of  her  old  life  seemed  to  come 
back  to  her  at  sight  of  him. 

He  held  her  hands.  He  stammered  out  rapt 
urously  that  "he'd  ben  kinder 'fraid  she  wouldn't 
know  him." 

"  Know  you  ?  Do  you  change  so  rapidly  out 
there?" 

She  withdrew  her  hands.     She  laughed  gayly. 

Philip  laughed  also.  The  two  stood  looking  at 
each  other.  The  people  who  hurried  by  glanced 
smilingly  at  them. 

Philip  had  bought  a  new  suit  of  clothes  for 
this  visit.  He  had  bought  them  at  Middle  Vil 
lage,  and  he  had  been  very  proud  of  them.  They 
bagged  where  they  should  have  been  snug,  and 
were  snug  where  they  should  have  bagged.  But 
he  did  not  know  it.  Where  he  lived  a  new  suit 
was  a  new  suit.  The  art  of  dressing  is  not  in  the 
least  a  complicated  affair  in  remote  New  England 
towns. 

At  last  Rowena  bethought  herself  and  moved 
on.  Philip  walked  by  her  side.  He  was  still 
smiling  broadly.  He  had  never  been  so  happy 
in  his  life  before.  He  was  glad  he  had  given  all 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  HI 

that  time  and  labor  and  those  forces  of  life  to 
writing  that  letter.  He  would  write  another,  if 
necessary.  He  guessed  he  could  write  a  letter 
if  he  "  sut  out." 

When  the  two  reached  the  Tremont  Street 
pavement  a  horseman  came  slowly  close  to  the 
curb.  It  was  the  man  who  had,  a  few  moments 
ago,  ridden  by  with  Miss  Phillipps.  He  again 
looked  seriously  at  Rowena,  with  a  kind  of  in- 
tentness  that  made  Philip  ask,  quickly: 

"Who  in  time  is  that  feller?"  And  the  girl 
only  said,  "  I  don't  know."  To  which  her  com 
panion  remarked  "  that  he  hoped  he  stared  hard 
enough." 

The  mere  sight  of  that  horseman  had  somehow 
quenched  Rowena's  pleasure  in  meeting  Philip. 
She  tried  to  keep  her  face  set  to  its  first  look. 
She  made  an  attempt  at  a  sprightly  interest  in 
Philip's  talk.  She  asked  questions,  and  did  not 
wait  for  the  answers.  But  Philip  only  remem 
bered  her  greeting. 

He  said  he  was  going  to  stay  in  Boston  until 
the  next  day.  He  announced  proudly  that  he 
had  engaged  a  room  at  a  hotel  on  Brattle  Street, 
where  his  uncle  Tim  used  to  put  up,  and  he 
guessed  it  was  a  first-rate  house.  He  had  left 
his  bag  there.  He  wanted  Rowena  to  go  over 
to  Bunker  Hill  with  him  that  afternoon.  In  the 
evening  they  would  go  to  a  theatre.  He  didn't 


112  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

spend  money  very  often.  He  guessed  he  could 
afford  to  lay  out  a  little  once  in  a  while. 

So  he  talked  on  eagerly,  his  honest  face  ear 
nest,  his  eyes  constantly  seeking  those  of  his 
companion. 

He  came  into  the  house  on  Hudson  Street. 
He  had  already  been  there  once,  and  had  been 
directed  to  the  studio.  Now  he  sat  in  the  par 
lor  while  Rowena  went  to  her  own  room.  He 
thought  the  parlor  was  beautiful.  He  found  no 
fault  with  the  atmosphere,  as  Miss  Phillipps  had 
done.  It  seemed  to  him  a  fascinating  luxury 
that  the  apartment  should  be  heated  by  a  fur 
nace.  The  picture  of  the  "  Spirit  Friend  "  on 
the  wall  was  wonderful,  though  he  could  make 
nothing  at  all  of  it,  it  was  so  vapory  and  unde 
fined.  But  he  supposed  it  was  a  work  of  great 
art,  and  he  hoped  Rowena  would  some  time  be 
able  to  copy  it. 

He  did  not  dare  to  walk  about  in  the  room. 
He  sat  with  his  feet  very  near  together  and  his 
hat  on  his  knees.  He  inhaled  the  odor  of  onions 
that  came  up  through  the  furnace  and  from  the 
basement. 

Mrs.  Jarvis,  in  her  palm-leaf,  wadded  morning- 
gown,  came  to  the  door  and  inquired  if  he  had 
called  to  buy  meal  tickets.  At  that  question, 
so  unexpectedly  put,  he  could  hardly  tell  whether 
he  wanted  meal  tickets  or  not.  He  had  in- 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  113 

tended  to  disport  himself  among  the  various  res 
taurants,  for  he  had  all  the  countryman's  appre 
ciation  of  restaurant  food. 

But  now  he  had  a  confused  sense  that  it  might 
be  in  some  way  a  favor  to  Rowena  to  buy  tickets 
of  her  landlady.  He  said  he  guessed  he'd  take 
some;  how  much  was  she  selling  them  for? 

It  ended  by  his  purchasing  twenty-five  tickets 
for  three  dollars.  As  he  paid  for  them  he  inci 
dentally  remarked  that  he  had  come  in  to  wait  for 
Miss  Tuttle.  At  this  Mrs.  Jarvis  said,  with  some 
animation,  that  she  thought,  and  Madame  Van 
Benthuysen  also  thought,  that  if  she  would  only 
let  herself  be  developed  Miss  Tuttle  would  make 
one  of  the  finest  medyums  in  Borston. 

As  he  heard  this,  Barrett  felt  his  hair  rising 
and  his  hands  growing  cold.  He  had  heard  of 
mediums.  He  knew  they  were  liable  at  any 
moment  to  find  their  affinities.  What  if  Rowena 
should  find  her  affinity? 

He  did  not  dare  to  say  that  he  hoped  Miss 
Tuttle  would  not  be  a  medium  for  fear  Mrs. 
Jarvis  might,  in  some  mysterious  way  known 
only  to  spiritualists,  cause  the  girl  to  be  devel 
oped  at  once.  Barrett's  ideas  about  spiritualism 
were  something  the  same  as  the  generally  re 
ceived  notion  regarding  Salem  witchcraft.  One 
never  knew  who  would  next  be  declared  a  witch. 

So  great  was  his  perturbation  at  the  thought 

8 


114  ROWENY   IN    BOSTON. 

of  Rowena's  becoming  a  medium  that  he  would 
not  speak  to  the  girl  on  the  subject  when  she 
presently  came  down-stairs  and  took  a  seat  near 
the  register. 

He  sat  looking  at  her  yearningly.  He  now 
saw  she  was  pale.  He  also  told  her  she  was 
"kinder  pindlin'."  She  laughed  at  that.  He 
said  "  he  s'posed  she  could  paint  'n'  dror  's  good 
's  anybody  now." 

At  this  she  laughed  again,  now  with  some  bit 
terness.  She  was  learning  every  day  how  dif 
ficult  excellence  is,  and  how  much  drudgery 
there  is  on  the  road  to  it.  And  she  had  also 
heard  a  great  deal  of  talk  about  the  folly  of 
women  in  trying  to  be  artists.  But  she  could 
not  give  up  her  hope.  Once  in  a  while  her  brush 
would,  apparently  of  its  own  volition,  make  a 
few  strokes  that  gladdened  her  like  an  inspira 
tion.  She  meant  to  toil  for  the  time  when  there 
would  be  more  such  strokes.  Once  Allestree, 
looking  at  her  work  at  such  a  time,  had  said  in 
his  autocratic  way: 

"  Miss  Tuttle,  you  will  do.  You  have  the 
touch."  Then  he  had  added,  as  if  to  himself: 
"if  only  the  confounded  feminine  limitations  do 
not  interfere!" 

Miss  Phillipps  had  heard  these  last  words. 
She  had  left  her  easel  and  walked  to  Rowena 
and  put  her  hand  on  her  shoulder  as  she  looked 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  115 

at  the  picture.  She  had  pressed  the  hand  caress 
ingly. 

"  Don't  believe  his  heresies,"  she  had  remarked. 
"There  are  no  more  insurmountable  feminine 
limitations  than  masculine.  In  fact,  art  is  sex 
less." 

"  It  should  be,  but  it  isn't."  With  this  re 
joinder  Allestree  had  seized  his  beard  and  walked 
away. 

Rowena  drank  in  all  this  talk  and  all  these  in 
fluences.  She  had  moments  of  thinking.  She 
was  very  wise  indeed. 

She  felt  wise  now  as  she  sat  opposite  Philip 
Barrett.  She  wished  he  had  not  procured  a  new 
suit  of  clothes.  All  his  natural  dignity  was  hid 
den  by  that  dreadful  Middle  Village  suit.  And 
he  looked  at  her  so  persistently.  Worse  than 
that,  he  somehow  gave  her  the  feeling  that  she 
had  given  him  the  right  to  look  at  her  thus. 

What  had  she  written  him  ?  And  what  had 
been  her  manner  just  now  when  she  had  met 
him?  What  made  him  hold  his  hat  as  if  it  were 
a  basket  of  eggs  ? 

"  I  s'pose  you've  ben  to  the  monument  a 
good  many  times  sence  you  come  to  the  city, 
ain't  you  ?" 

Barrett  put  this  question  rather  timidly.  He 
was  sensible  of  some  change  in  Rowena's  man 
ner,  though  he  could  not  account  for  it. 


Il6  ROWENY   IN    BOSTON. 

"  What  monument?"  she  asked. 

He  looked  surprised.  For  him  there  was  but 
one  monument.  He  had  told  his  mother  he  was 
coming  to  Boston  principally  to  see  it. 

"  Why,  Bunker  Hill,  of  course." 

"  No  ;  I  haven't  been  there,"  indifferently. 

"  I  wish  you'd  go  with  me  this  afternoon." 

He  was  greatly  cheered  by  her  consent.  He 
took  her  to  Copeland's  for  dinner.  He  was  sur 
prised  that  he  had  so  little  appetite  in  the  midst 
of  such  luxury.  In  the  horse-car  ride  to  Charles- 
town  he  gave  a  detailed  account  of  the  case  of 
botts  which  had  resulted  in  the  death  of  his  gray 
horse. 

In  this  recital  Rowena  showed  a  good  deal  of 
interest.  She  now  became  animated  and  asked 
many  questions  about  "all  the  folks."  Barrett 
eagerly  replied.  He  showed  an  almost  pitiable 
desire  to  say  what  would  please  her.  He  watched 
her.  He  felt  there  was  something  in  her  face  he 
had  never  seen  there  before.  He  wondered  what 
it  was.  He  thought  it  was  miserably  foolish  in 
her  to  study  art.  Women  needn't  study  art.  Of 
course  she  would  get  over  it  in  a  little  time. 
But,  meanwhile,  he  found  it  very  hard  to  bear. 
She  could  paint  and  draw  well  enough  now  to 
make  pictures  to  hang  up  in  the  sitting-room. 
In  Philip  Barrett's  mind  it  was  the  very  pinnacle 
of  excellence  in  art  to  be  able  to  hang  something 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  117 

of  your  own  in  the  sitting-room.  He  did  not  un 
derstand  Rowena,  but  he  meant  to  do  so. 

They  climbed  wearily  to  the  top  of  the  monu 
ment  on  Bunker  Hill.  When  they  stood  there 
Philip  found  it  more  interesting  to  look  at  his 
companion's  face  than  at  the  view.  But  she 
looked  at  the  view.  It  was  not  a  clear  day. 
There  was  an  uncertainty  of  outline  that  made 
the  outlook  peculiarly  lovely  and  which  stirred 
her  soul.  She  uttered  one  or  two  exclamations 
of  delight.  Barrett  had  the  discretion  not  to  re 
spond.  He  thought  it  was  "very  pretty"  to  see 
everything  spread  out  so  before  them.  He  would 
tell  his  mother  about  it. 

Rowena  clasped  her  hands.  The  wind  blew 
her  hair  about  the  soft  hat.  Her  eyes  were  ra 
diant. 

"  That  must  be  the  Charles,"  she  said,  in  a  low 
voice.  "  And  see,  where  the  high  light  strikes 
that  shore  !  What  a  delightful  effect !" 

Philip's  spirits  rose  again.  He  wondered  what 
she  meant  by  "  high  light,"  but  he  had  a  kind  of 
feeling  that  the  beauty  of  the  scene  was  some 
thing  he  had  procured  for  her.  This  feeling  gave 
him  immense  satisfaction. 

After  a  while  they  crept  down  within  the  tow 
ering  dungeon  and  emerged  into  the  world  with 
other  people  again. 

Philip  pleaded  with  the  girl  to  go  to  supper 


Il8  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

with  him.  They  rode  back  to  Boston  and  stroll 
ed  rather  aimlessly  along  the  streets.  Rowena 
was  getting  very  tired,  but  Philip  did  not  think 
he  should  ever  be  tired.  He  said  as  much,  rather 
ardently. 

At  last  they  had  supper  in  a  place  where  the 
waiter  girl  was  in  convulsions  of  laughter  with 
another  waiter  girl.  The  effect  of  this  hilarity 
was  such  as  to  dampen  Barrett's  spirits  a  great 
deal.  He  could  not  shake  off  the  idea  that  they 
were  laughing  at  him. 

It  did  not  occur  to  cither  of  these  people  that 
a  chaperon  was  necessary.  It  was  a  simple  and 
ordinary  thing  that  they  should  go  about  thus. 

Evidently  Philip  had  laid  out  a  plan  of  battle 
to  which  he  would  adhere.  He  was  so  grieved 
when  Rowena  said  she  thought  she  would  not  go 
to  the  theatre  in  the  evening  that  she  relented. 

He  went  somewhere  and  returned  about  seven, 
while  Mrs.  Jarvis's  later  reg'lars  were  coming  in. 
He  had  orchestra  tickets  for  the  Hollis  Street 
Theatre.  He  said  he  guessed  one  play  was  the 
same  as  another,  but  some  one  had  told  him  the 
Kendals  were  about  the  thing.  Did  Rowena 
know  what  the  Kendals  were?  He  would  have 
been  perfectly  calm  and  unsurprised  if  she  had 
answered  that  they  were  a  species  of  gorilla. 

Now  that  the  name  was  mentioned,  Rowena 
remembered  that  she  had  heard  Miss  Phillipps 


ROWENY   IN    BOSTON.  119 

say  to  some  one  in  the  studio  that  there  was  a 
certain  strong  charm  about  Mrs.  Kendal's  act 
ing,  but  that  she  could  wish  the  woman  did  not 
"  pose  so  much  at  virtue  "  in  her  private  life,  it 
was  wearing — it  was  protesting  too  much.  No 
one  suspected  her  of  being  otherwise  than  exem 
plary. 

The  girl  had  felt  a  cynical  ring  in  the  voice 
that  spoke  those  words,  but  she  had  not  in  the 
least  understood  them. 

Now  at  mention  of  the  Kendals  a  swift  inter 
est  sprang  up  in  her  mind.  She  forgot  her  fa 
tigue.  She  had  never  been  to  a  theatre  in  her 
life ;  neither  had  her  escort.  She  ran  up-stairs 
for  hat  and  shawl.  When  she  descended  she 
met  Ferdinand  Foster  and  his  aunt,  Madame 
Van  Benthuysen.  The  latter  was  in  her  volumi 
nous  circular.  Her  voice  was  as  rolling  as  ever. 
She  threw  one  arm  and  part  of  the  circular  over 
Rowena's  shoulder  and  kissed  her.  She  said 
she  and  Ferd  had  come  to  call  on  her.  She  had 
really  been  so  occupied  with  one  spirit  and  an 
other  for  the  last  week  or  two  that  she  had  not 
had  a  minute  of  her  own. 

Inside  the  parlor  Philip  was  waiting,  and  heard 
these  words.  He  also  saw  the  impressive  man 
ner  with  which  Foster  looked  at  Rowena.  The 
country  youth  was  much  struck  with  the  glory 
of  Ferdinand's  necktie  and  watch-chain.  He  ex- 


120  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

perienced  a  sinking  of  the  heart  as  he  saw  them. 
His  own  tie  was  a  narrow  black  ribbon.  He 
wished  he  had  worn  the  silver  chain  that  be 
longed  to  his  watch  ;  but  he  had  left  it  at  home 
lest  it  might  tempt  pickpockets. 

He  stepped  forward  in  time  to  see  Rowena 
smile  at  Foster.  Almost  at  the  same  moment 
Foster  said  he  and  his  aunt  were  going  to  get  up 
a  little  party  to  hear  the  Kendals  and  have  a 
supper  afterwards.  Of  course  Miss  Tuttle  would 
be  one  of  them. 

As  he  finished  speaking  Foster  swung  himself 
round  in  his  big,  rough  ulster,  and  saw  a  fellow 
in  the  parlor  glaring  at  him. 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  121 


IX. 

AT  THE   THEATRE. 

YOUNG  Foster  glared  back  at  young  Barrett 
in  the  narrow  hall  on  Hudson  Street.  As  they 
looked  the  natural  antagonism  of  one  to  the 
other  sparkled  in  their  eyes. 

Rowena  hastened  to  introduce  them.  She  felt 
that  there  was  thunder  in  the  air,  but  she  could 
not  guess  why. 

The  two  men  nodded  ferociously  at  each  oth 
er  when  she  mentioned  their  names. 

Madame  Van  Bcnthuysen  shook  hands  in  her 
large,  cordial  way  with  Philip.  She  told  him  she 
hoped  he  would  stay  over  and  come  to  their  sea- 
ants  on  Harrison  Avenue  that  evening. 

As  Philip  did  not  know  what  a  sea-ants  was  he 
was  not  alarmed,  and  only  thought  this  lady  was 
very  kind.  Her  fur  circular  and  her  black  satin 
gown  made  as  much  impression  on  him  as  the 
necktie  and  chain  of  her  nephew.  His  heart 
sank  at  the  knowledge  of  what  fine  friends  Ro 
wena  had.  But  did  he  not  desire  fine  friends  for 
her? 


122  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

He  could  not  keep  his  eyes  from  Foster.  He 
was  sure  that  if  that  person's  ulster  had  been  an 
inch  longer  in  the  skirt  or  an  inch  higher  in  the 
collar  he  could  not  have  refrained  from  throw 
ing  him  out  into  the  street.  He  vaguely  heard 
Madame  Van  Benthuysen  talking  about  a  thea 
tre  party,  "  The  Queen's  Shilling,"  balcony,  sup 
per.  What  did  it  mean  ?  Was  Rowena  going 
with  them  ? 

After  a  few  moments  Rowena  turned  to  Philip 
and  said  she  was  ready  to  go.  Foster  was  trium 
phant  and  smiling.  He  repeated  two  or  three 
times  that  they'd  have  no  end  of  a  jolly  even 
ing.  He  insisted  on  shaking  hands  with  the  girl 
before  she  left ;  he  bent  over  her  hand  with  a 
good-natured  swagger.  He  seemed  delighted 
when  she  laughed  at  his  rattle. 

When  she  and  Philip  were  in  the  street  she 
did  not  notice  that  her  companion  was  sulky. 
But  when  they  reached  the  theatre  the  great  in 
terest  and  novelty  of  everything  absorbed  them 
both. 

There  was  a  pleasure  to  Rowena  in  being  gen 
tly  hustled  by  well-dressed  people.  She  liked 
the  semi-darkness, the  mingled  odors  of  perfumes. 
They  both  thought  they  had  never  seen  any 
man  so  wonderfully  well  dressed  as  the  usher 
who  came  sliding  up  to  them  to  take  their  tick 
ets  and  conduct  them  to  a  seat.  Even  before 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  133 

the  curtain  rose,  the  gilding,  the  upholstery,  the 
whole  aspect  of  the  place,  together  with  the 
murmur  of  music  from  the  unseen  orchestra, 
gave  Philip  a  strong  impression  that  it  must  be 
wicked  to  be  there.  Anything  so  pleasant  and 
so  unlike  anything  he  had  ever  known  would 
necessarily  be  wicked.  He  recalled  with  a  pang 
of  conscience  that  the  evangelist  now  preaching 
in  Middle  Village  had  said  distinctly  that  thea 
tres  were  works  of  the  evil  one. 

In  an  awed  whisper  he  gave  this  information 
to  his  companion.  But  Rowena  laughed ;  she 
was  much  further  from  Middle  Village  than 
Philip  was.  She  did  not  care  what  the  evan 
gelist  told  those  people.  Her  face  showed  her 
pleasure.  There  was  not  an  attraction,  from  the 
dome  downward,  that  did  not  appeal  to  her  ar 
tistic  nature  with  a  tingling  sense  of  joy.  The 
strains  from  the  hidden  instruments  thrilled  her. 
This  was  her  first  night.  You  whose  first  night 
in  a  theatre  is  involved  in  the  mists  of  the  past, 
do  not  laugh  at  her.  How  much  would  you  give 
could  you  change  places  with  her? 

Very  soon  Philip  lapsed  into  a  bewildered  si 
lence.  All  through  the  evening  he  was  more 
puzzled  than  entertained. 

They  were  so  near  the  stage  that  when  the 
curtain  rose  on  the  first  scene  of  the  "  Iron  Mas 
ter"  Rowena  felt  a  shock  of  almost  disillusion- 


124  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

ment ;  she  saw  so  plainly  how  the  people  were 
made  up,  and  the  pitch  of  their  voices  startled 
her.  But  when,  in  a  moment,  Claire  came  in,  re 
freshingly  unmade  up,  speaking  theatrically,  Ro- 
wena  gave  a  long  sigh  of  delight,  and  from  the 
first  sight  of  the  heroine  she  gave  herself  up  to 
fervent  love  and  admiration  for  her.  She  went 
through  with  Claire  with  all  her  love  and  all  her 
misery.  She  longed  to  rush  upon  the  stage  and 
fling  her  arms  about  her.  When  the  husband 
went  out  to  fight  the  duel  and  the  wife  beat 
upon  the  locked  door  and  shrieked  in  her  agony, 
Rowena  sprang  up  in  her  seat  and  made  a  frantic 
effort  to  get  away,  crying  : 

"  I  must  let  her  out !" 

The  curtain  fell.  Rowena  shrank  back  to  her 
place  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  Ev 
erybody  looked  at  her.  Philip  did  not  know 
what  to  do.  He  did  not  know  but  that  he 
ought  to  aid  in  the  effort  to  unbar  that  closed 
door  whereupon  Claire  had  struck  in  her  suf 
fering. 

Among  those  who  looked  at  Rowena  when 
she  thus  stood  were  two  people  in  a  box  at  the 
right.  A  man  and  woman  sat  in  front,  Miss 
Phillipps  and  her  cousin,  Keats  Bradford.  The 
lady's  white  silk  cloak  was  on  the  back  of  her 
chair;  her  slightly  tinted  gown  was  high  in  the 
neck  and  long  in  the  sleeves,  but  still  it  gave 


ROVVENY    IN    BOSTON.  125 

with  perfect  effect  the  impression  of  evening 
dress.  She  had  flowers  in  her  hair  and  in  her 
hand ;  her  pale  face  was  a  little  flushed  with  in 
terest,  and  her  emerald-colored  eyes  were  very 
brilliant ;  her  lips  even  more  than  usually  red. 
The  thick  fluff  of  hair,  the  straight  brows,  the 
keenly  alive  face,  made  it  reasonable  that  her 
companion  should  have  deliberately  decided  that 
she  was  in  great  good  looks  to-night. 

He  had  just  said  that  Mrs.  Kendal  was  satisfy 
ing,  that  she  never  overdid  things,  when  he  saw 
Rowena  standing  there  palpitating  with  the  emo 
tion  roused  by  the  scene  before  her.  He  half 
rose,  as  if  he  would  shield  the  girl,  and  he  paused 
abruptly  in  a  sentence. 

Miss  Phillipps  followed  his  glance. 

"  Rowena  Tuttle  !"  she  exclaimed. 

The  young  man  breathed  a  long  breath  of  re 
lief  when  Rowena  sat  down  and  people  stopped 
gazing  at  her.  He  polished  his  glass  on  his  hand 
kerchief  and  put  it  to  his  eye. 

"  Is  she  alone  with  that  man?"  asked  Miss  Phil 
lipps.  She  had,  in  spite  of  her  unconventional 
spirit,  strict  ideas  on  some  topics. 

"  Not  exactly  alone,"  was  the  answer,  "as  there 
are  several  hundred  people  with  her." 

The  lady  did  not  reply.  She  bent  forward,  and 
aimed  her  glass  at  Rowena  so  persistently  that  the 
girl  presently  seemed  to  feel  it  focussed  upon  her. 


126  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

She  removed  her  hands  from  her  face  and  made 
a  great  struggle  for  composure.  She  was  in  ter 
ror  lest  Philip  should  speak  to  her.  She  did  not 
think  she  could  bear  the  sound  of  his  voice  just 
now.  But  when  she  saw  the  lady  in  the  box  she 
experienced  a  glow  of  pleasure.  Miss  Phillipps 
removed  her  opera -glass  the  instant  she  had 
caught  Rowena's  attention.  She  gave  her  a 
glance  that  warmed  her,  but  reproved  her  as 
well.  It  is  not  good  form  to  show  emotion  in 
public;  but  Rowena  had  forgotten  herself.  She 
became  painfully  crimson. 

"  If  the  play  were  not  about  over  I  would  send 
you  down,  Keats,  to  bring  her  here,"  said  Miss 
Phillipps,  autocratically. 

Presently  the  play  was  done.  Claire  had  been 
lugged  rather  unnecessarily  to  the  front  of  the 
stage,  and  it  was  discovered  that  the  bullet  had 
not  injured  her  seriously ;  everybody  was  going 
to  be  happy  ever  after ;  the  handkerchiefs  were 
put  away  ;  people  bustled  towards  the  door. 
Rowena  tried  to  wake  from  her  illusions.  Philip 
said  he  guessed  the  theatre  must  be  finished,  for 
all  the  folks  were  going  out. 

The  two  moved  with  the  rest.  As  they  stood 
on  the  sidewalk,  Miss  Phillipps  and  her  cousin 
came  out  and  entered  a  carriage.  As  she  sat 
down,  and  while  Bradford  had  his  foot  on  the 
step,  the  lady  saw  Rowena  and  her  friend  stand- 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  127 

ing  near  in  the  lamplight.  She  beckoned  im 
peratively.  People  usually  obeyed  her  before 
they  considered  whether  they  needed  to  do 
so. 

Rowena  advanced,  with  Philip  behind  her. 
She  vaguely  saw  the  shining  white  expanse,  the 
low  waistcoat  and  white  tie,  beneath  Bradford's 
overcoat.  He  had  a  pair  of  gloves  in  his  hand. 
He  fell  back  with  a  deferential  movement  as  she 
approached — but  not  far  back. 

"  Did  you  like  it  ?"  asked  Miss  Phillipps,  tak 
ing  the  girl's  hand  closely. 

"  Oh,  I — "  began  Rowena,  when  the  other  bent 
so  near  that  her  breath  was  on  Rowena's  face,  as 
she  whispered,  hurriedly : 

"You  did  not  remember  that  I  told  you  not 
to  show  all  you  feel  in  your  face.  You  are  like 
a  poor  little  lamb,  with  no  shield  nor  buckler,  and 
wolves  all  about.  Dear,  good-night !" 

As  she  let  go  the  hand  she  said,  aloud : 

"  Don't  forget,  it  is  the  Browning  Club  to-mor 
row  night." 

Rowena  was  very  pale  as  she  walked  away. 
She  knew  her  friend  was  right,  but  she  was  hurt, 
all  the  same. 

"  I  heard  what  you  said,"  remarked  Bradford, 
as  the  carriage  rolled  on.  "  Don't  you  know  it 
is  her  greatest  chawm  that  her  face  does  miwwor 
her  feelings.  You're  all  wrong." 


128  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

"  I'm  right,"  said  the  other,  positively.  "  I'm 
going  to  protect  that  girl." 

"  By  all  means,  pwotect  her,"  sinking  back  on 
the  cushions.  "  I'll  help  you  pwotect  her." 

Miss  Phillipps  glanced  up  at  him. 

"  Do  wait,  Keats,  until  I  ask  for  your  help. 
And  can't  you  pronounce  the  letter  R? — you  are 
so  ridiculous!  I  suppose  you  think  it  is  Eng 
lish?" 

"To  be  widiculous?     I  know  it's  English." 

The  next  day  Rowena  experienced  a  sense  of 
relief  when  she  thought  that  Philip  was  going. 
She  was  somewhat  weary.  She  told  herself  that 
it  was  all  that  new  suit  of  clothes.  She  liked 
Philip  best  in  his  overalls  and  "jumper."  There 
was  a  simplicity  and  manliness  about  him  when 
he  was  on  his  own  farm. 

His  face  was  very  long  when  she  was  called 
down  to  the  parlor  to  bid  him  good-bye.  He  gave 
her  the  twenty-five  meal  tickets  he  had  bought 
of  Mrs.  Jarvis.  He  said  he  hoped  Rowena  would 
use  them,  for  it  must  be  kind  of  lonesome  to  take 
one's  victuals  all  by  one's  self.  When  she  hesi 
tated  he  explained  that  "  they  wouldn't  do  him 
no  good,  'n'  she  might  's  well  have  'um." 

He  sat  uneasily,  holding  his  hat  more  than 
ever  as  though  there  were  eggs  in  it.  She  wait 
ed.  She  had  exhausted  herself  in  conversation 
the  day  before.  There  did  not  seem  another 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  1 29 

thing  to  say.  Something  was  evidently  resting 
heavily  on  his  mind.  At  last  he  got  up  and 
stood  before  her. 

"  It's  not  time  to  go  yet,"  she  remarked. 

"  No,  it  ain't." 

He  put  his  hat  on  his  head,  and  then,  remem 
bering  his  manners,  he  took  it  immediately  off, 
and  instantly  converted  it  again  into  a  recepta 
cle  for  eggs. 

"  Does  that  feller  git  up  them  sea-antses  him 
self?"  he  asked,  sternly. 

"What  fellow?  Oh,  you  mean  Mr.  Foster? 
No ;  it  is  his  aunt  who  is  the  medium." 

Rowena  tried  not  to  laugh,  remembering  how 
short  a  time  it  was  since  she  herself  had  any 
knowledge  of  seances. 

Philip  suddenly  changed  his  ground. 

"  I  s'pose,"  he  said,  "  that  the  feller  is  very 
agreeable." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  him  any — scarcely." 

"  Be  you  goin'  to  the  play  with  him  ?" 

Rowena  rose.  She  was  going  to  reply  angrily, 
when  she  saw  how  miserably  unhappy  her  com 
panion  was.  There  was  a  look  in  his  eyes  that 
went  straight  to  her  heart. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said,  feebly. 

Philip  put  his  eggs  desperately  down  on  the 
floor.  His  face  was  very  pale  and  drawn.  He 
kept  his  glance  upon  her  a  moment  in  silence. 

9 


130  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

He  wondered  blindly  what  there  was  different 
in  her;  what  was  it?  Then  he  said  aloud,  and 
indignantly: 

"  It's  jest  livin'  in  Borston  !  You  can't  live  in 
a  thick  settled  place  'n'  be  jest  the  same.  I 
ought  to  er  known  it.  I  ought  to  er  known  it !" 

His  big  brown  hands  shut  hard. 

"  Philip,"  said  the  girl,  very  gently,  "  don't 
let's  quarrel." 

He  looked  at  her  so  wistfully  that  she  hung 
her  head.  She  felt  that  she  could  not  keep  the 
tears  back  much  longer.  In  some  inexplicable 
way  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  in  being  hard  to  Phil 
ip  she  was  ungrateful  to  her  old  home  and  all  in 
it  that  she  loved. 

"  I  ain't  goin'  to  plague  ye,"  he  said.  "  I 
wouldn't  plague  ye  for  all  the  world.  And  I  c'n 
wait.  I  guess  I'll  be  goin'  to  the  deepo.  What 
sh'll  I  tell  um  to  home  for  you  ?" 

Rowena's  gratitude  made  her  almost  effusive. 
She  was  so  thankful — for  what  she  hardly  knew. 

A  short  time  later  she  stood  at  the  door  and 
saw  Philip  go  down  the  street.  He  did  not  look 
back,  but  walked  sturdily  on. 

She  went  up  to  her  own  room  and  sat  down. 
Immediately  her  thoughts  of  Barrett  grew  warm 
er.  She  did  not  know  that  when  that  Middle 
Village  suit  was  removed  from  her  eyes  the 
wearer  of  it  assumed  a  different  aspect. 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  13! 

Then  it  occurred  to  her  that  this  evening  she 
was  going  to  the  Browning  Club.  There  was 
a  tumultuous  quickening  of  her  pulses  at  the 
thought.  She  was  conscious  of  a  shy  longing  to 
see  this  new  kind  of  people.  And  the  prospect 
of  meeting  Miss  Phillipps  was  always  a  distinct 
pleasure  to  her. 

Does  not  one  who  has  spent  much  time  in 
Boston  remember  the  large  women  with  gray 
curls  looped  up  each  side  of  their  large  faces? 
They  are  ruddy,  with  a  comfortable  conscious 
ness  of  living  in  Boston  diffused  through  their 
redundant  personality.  They  always  look,  as 
you  see  them  walking  on  Charles  or  Beacon 
Street,  as  if  they  had  just  descended  from  an  in 
tensely  Bostonian  coupe.  If  you  peer  into  that 
coupe  you  will  see  the  last  Atlantic  in  the  pock 
et  ;  perhaps,  also,  a  pamphlet  on  Nationalism,  or  a 
sketch  of  Confucius  as  he  was,  not  Confucius  as 
we  have  thought  he  was.  Somebody  in  Boston 
has  found  out  the  exact  facts  concerning  him, 
and  to  Boston  is  given  the  discovery. 

The  horses  in  the  shafts  will  not  have  any 
check- rein  nor  any  curb -bit,  for  this  kind  of 
woman  does  not  confine  herself  to  theories.  She 
has  a  very  soft  spot  in  her  heart  for  animals,  for 
everything  that  is  abused  or  that  does  not  have 
its  rights. 

Besides  The  Atlantic  and  the  pamphlet,  there 


132  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

is  often  also  in  this  carriage  a  dog.  He  is  sitting 
calmly  superior  to  mere  "  foot  folks."  He  is  a 
well-groomed  King  Charley  or  Yorkshire.  Never 
a  fox  terrier  for  this  kind  of  woman.  The  dog 
meets  your  eye  with  a  gentle  pity  in  his  expres 
sion,  a  pity  for  you  because  you  are  not  a  York 
shire  sitting  in  a  coupe"  belonging  to  a  person 
like  his  mistress.  He  knows  there  is  a  sketch  of 
Confucius  in  the  vehicle  with  him,  and  he  re 
spects  himself  accordingly.  He  wags  his  little 
stub  of  a  tail  if  you  approach.  He  is  perfectly 
affable.  He  knows  his  position  too  well  not  to 
be  so.  He  is  like  his  dear  friend  and  mistress ; 
it  is  a  good  thing  that,  incidentally,  he  has 
wealth,  but  he  is  sincere  in  his  conviction  that^ 
wealth  is  not  to  be  compared  with  culture  and 
blood.  He  probably  has  clear  ideas  as  to  what 
Buddha  preached ;  anyway,  his  eyes  are  bright 
enough  to  have  such  ideas.  He  is  not  going  to 
fall  into  Nirvana  when  he  dies;  he  confidently 
expects  that  in  the  future  state  cats  will  be  pro 
vided  for  him  to  worry. 

There  were  three  of  these  gray-haired  ladies 
in  the  rooms  of  the  house  on  Charles  Street 
where  Miss  Phillipps  lived.  They  put  up  tor 
toise-shell-handled  eye-glasses  and  looked  at  Ro- 
wena  when  she  entered,  not  impertinently,  but 
with  the  questioning  air  they  gave  to  everything 
new. 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  133 

There  were  young  ladies,  also,  in  the  rooms,  a 
few  men.  There  was  a  murmur  of  talk  and  low 
laughter. 

The  rooms  themselves  were,  in  reality,  almost 
simple,  but  they  seemed  magnificent  to  Rowena. 
There  were  low  fireplaces,  in  which  smouldered 
heavy  oak  logs.  There  was  no  gaslight,  but 
queer  old  lamps  shed  a  mellow  light.  To  this 
country  girl  everything  appeared  in.  keeping  with 
Miss  Phillipps. 

It  was  enough  for  Miss  Phillipps  that  she  was 
Miss  Phillipps  ;  enough  for  her  house  that  it  was 
hers. 

This  hostess  when  she  chose  could  do  some 
kind  things  with  a  grace  that  made  them  more 
than  kind. 

An  almost  tender  light  came  into  the  green- 
tinted  eyes  as  their  owner  saw  that  black-clad, 
slender,  hesitating,  and  altogether  charming  fig 
ure  in  the  door-way. 

Ignorant  and  unsophisticated  as  Rowena  was, 
she  could  not  be  awkward.  There  is  a  hesi 
tancy  like  that  of  the  flower  stalk  which  hardly 
knows  from  which  direction  the  breeze  is  com 
ing. 

A  man  standing  at  the  end  of  the  first  room, 
with  his  hands  behind  him,  rather  carelessly  list 
ening  to  one  of  the  gray- haired  ladies,  saw  Ro 
wena  the  instant  she  appeared.  He  saw,  also,  a 


134  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

swift  suffusion  of  gladness  go  over  the  girl's  face 
as  she  met  Miss  Phillipps's  glance.  That  lady 
walked  quickly  to  her  side  and  took  both  her 
hands  in  an  impressive  welcome.  This  welcome 
was  meant  to  show  her  own  feelings  towards 

o 

this  stranger,  and  to  set  an  example. 

"Who  is  this  that  Vanessa  has  taken  up  now?" 
asked  Mrs.  Sears,  with  her  glass  up. 

"Weally,  I  don't  know,"  was  the  answer  from 
the  gentleman  whom  Rowena  had  seen  riding 
with  Miss  Phillipps. 

Though  he  said  "  weally,"  he  did  not  look  like 
a  man  who  would  say  it.  Though  he  had  a  glass 
in  his  eye,  he  did  not  look  like  a  man  who  would 
have  a  glass  in  his  eye.  There  were  several  in 
congruities  about  this  individual. 

"  Vanessa  is  sometimes  very  trying,"  went  on 
Mrs.  Sears,  as  their  hostess  led  Rowena  to  an 
old  lady  who  was  sitting  near  the  fireplace  hold 
ing  a  screen  between  her  face  and  the  heat. 
"  She  takes  up  a  person  or  a  theory  with  ardor, 
and  then — " 

"  She  puts  them  down  with  ardor,"  said  the 
gentleman.  "  It  doesn't  hurt  the  theowy,  a  the- 
owy  can  stand  it ;  but  a  person  doesn't  like  it, 
naturally." 

"That  girl  is  something  quite  out  of  the  ordi 
nary,"  said  Mrs.  Sears.  She  had  removed  her 
glass.  Now  she  lifted  it  again.  "  She  is — why — 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  135 

searching  for  fitting  terms  of  praise — "  she  might 
almost  be  one  of  Us." 

The  man  smiled. 

"  Where  did  you  say  she  came  from  ?" 

"  From  Middle  Village — or  thereabouts." 

"  But  I  thought  you  didn't  know  anything 
about  her." 

"  I  don't.  But  I  know  Vanessa  has  secured  a 
girl  from  Middle  Village  with  whom  she  is  now 
infatuated." 

An  inarticulate  murmur  was  all  the  response 
to  this  remark. 

Miss  Phillipps  was  now  bringing  Rowena  to 
Mrs.  Sears. 

Keats  Bradford  thought  he  had  never  admired 
his  cousin  Vanessa  as  strongly  as  he  admired  her 
now.  You  would  have  said  from  her  manner  it' 
was  a  princess  whom  she  was  conducting,  choos 
ing  to  do  this  rather  than  wait  for  the  people  to 
be  conducted  to  the  princess. 

It  must  have  been  a  very  hard-hearted  elderly 
lady  indeed  who  could  resist  the  desire  to  greet 
Rowena  warmly.  There  was  about  her  the  pen 
etrating  grace  of  unsullied  youth,  and  nothing 
is  more  attractive  to  age.  Moreover,  her  own 
indescribable  and  individual  personality,  which, 
perhaps,  Miss  Phillipps  called  her  "  atmosphere," 
which  is  born  with  one,  and  which  makes  one  be 
loved  or  shunned,  this  was  markedly  winning. 


136  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

Mrs.  Sears  took  the  girl's  hand  in  her  thick, 
cushiony  palm. 

"  So  you  have  come  to  study  Browning,  Miss 
Tuttle?  It  is  an  occupation  which  never  fails." 

The  words  did  not  mean  very  much,  but  they 
were  said  with  the  accompaniment  of  the  kind 
est  smile.  Mrs.  Sears  made  room  for  Rowena  on 
the  little  couch  where  she  sat. 

The  young  man  near  her  instantly  came  for 
ward  and  asked  to  be  presented.  The  girl  re 
membered  him  very  well,  but  she  tried  not  to 
let  her  face  show  that  she  did  so.  She  was  be 
ginning  to  heed  the  advice  Miss  Phillipps  had 
given  her  concerning  a  reticence  of  countenance. 

The  gentleman  did  not  address  her,  save  a  few 
words  after  his  greeting.  He  continued  to  con 
verse  with  Mrs.  Sears.  But  he  had  the  ability  to 
let  the  girl  know  that  she  was  in  his  thoughts ; 
that,  though  he  talked  to  Mrs.  Sears,  it  was  that 
Miss  Tuttle  might  hear  him. 

Presently  he  looked  at  his  watch.  He  said  it 
was  almost  time  for  him  to  read  that  selection. 
He  walked  away  a  few  steps,  then  he  returned 
and  said  to  Rowena : 

"  I  have  the  honor  to  open  the  meeting.  I 
shall  not  wead  the  extract  I  selected  yesterday. 
I  want  you  to  hear  something  else  the  first  time 
you  come.  I  shall  ask  you  what  you  think  of  it, 
so  please  pay  attention." 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  137 


X. 

AT  A  BROWNING  CLUB. 

"  Rivals,  who  .  .  . 

Tuned,  from  Bocafoli's  stark-naked  psalms, 
To  Plara's  sonnets  spoilt  by  toying  with, 
As  knops  that  stud  some  almug  to  the  pith 
Pricked  for  gum,  wry  thence,  and  crinkled  worse 
Than  pursed  eyelids  of  a  river-horse 
Sunning  himself  o'  the  slime  when  whirrs  the  breeze — • 
Gad-fly,  that  is." 

"  Oil,  no ;  I  never  go  anywhere  without  my 
little  geological  hammer,  not  even  down  Wash 
ington  Street.  My  -hammer  and  one  of  Ibsen's 
plays.  One  never  knows,  don't  you  know,  when 
one  may  find  a  specimen  ;  and  it  is  so  inter 
esting  to  get  a  new  one  —  and  then,  if  I  have 
to  wait  a  few  moments  in  a  shop,  don't  you 
know,  if  I  have  Ibsen  with  me,  I  don't  lose  any 
time,  you  see." 

"  It  must  be  quite  dreadful  to  lose  any  time," 
said  Mrs.  Sears,  with  an  indulgent  smile  that  had 
a  suspicion  of  irony  in  it.  "  Did  you  bring  your 


138  ROWENV    IN    BOSTON. 

hammer  with  you  to-day,  Miss  Sargeant  ?  You 
might  pound  away  at  '  Childe  Roland.'  I  think 
it  would  bear  all  your  strength." 

"  Is  it  to  be  '  Childe  Roland  '  again  to-day?" 

"Yes." 

The  owner  of  the  geological  hammer  tossed 
her  head.  She  had  that  type  of  weasel -face 
which  Rowena  had  noticed  in  one  of  the  sales 
ladies  that  evening  at  Mrs.  Jarvis's.  She  did 
not  look  any  more  refined.  She  was  painfully 
alert.  She  tossed  her  head  again.  She  said  for 
her  part  she  was  tired  of  that  poem,  if  it  were  a 
poem.  Why  didn't  they  drop  Browning  and  take 
up  Ibsen  ?  She  was  told  that  this  was  not  an 
Ibsen  club.  She  flung  her  bits  of  hands  out  and 
her  bangles  tinkled.  She  gave  sharp  glances  at 
Rowena,  who  still  kept  her  place  by  Mrs.  Sears. 

"  I  went  out  to  Diamond  Hill  the  other  day," 
she  began.  "  Rhode  Island,  you  know.  Real 
ly  a  curious  place;  might  be  a  thousand  miles 
away.  Natives  don't  know  anything;  stand  about 
in  overalls — aren't  they  overalls,  Miss  Tuttle?" 

"They  are  overalls, "replied  Rowena,  her  clear 
voice  contrasting  with  the  chipping  noise  this 
Miss  Sargeant  made  in  talking,  "also  jumpers," 
added  Rowena,  with  a  slight  laugh. 

Miss  Sargeant  stared  an  instant.  Then  re 
peated:  "Also  jumpers.  Thanks.  They  stand 
around  in  these  things,  and  look  at  you  till  you 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  139 

feel  their  eyes  boring  like  gimlets.  I  could  feel 
them  in  the  back  of  my  head.  They  fry  their 
beefsteak  there,  too — in  lard.  And  they  expect 
you  to  eat  pickles  with  it  —  large  cucumbers 
steeped  in  vinegar." 

"  Did  you  get  any  specimens,  Miss  Sargeant?" 

"  Magnificent  rough  amethysts.  I  should 
think  there  must  be  a  strata  of  these  amethysts 
somewhere  there,  a  strata  upthrown  by  some 
subterranean  action.  Shouldn't  you  say  so,  Mrs. 
Sears?" 

The  elder  lady  had  shrunk  perceptibly  at  the 
word  "  strata,"  which  was  spoken  as  if  spelled 
"strarter." 

"  Don't  you  think,  Miss  Sargeant,"  she  said, 
with  some  emphasis,  "  that  you  might  better  use 
your  geological  hammer  a  trifle  less,  and  look 
into  the  subject  of  singular  and  plural  forma 
tions  a  trifle  more?  Pardon  an  old  woman's 
advice." 

The  girl  stood  an  instant  in  vindictive  silence. 
She  was  very  fond  of  that  word  "  strarter." 

She  walked  away. 

Mrs.  Sears  glanced  at  Rowena. 

"  Do  you  think  I  was  harsh,  my  dear  ?"  she 
asked.  "  But  then,  I  know  Delia  Sargeant  so 
very  well.  If  I  can  be  the  means  of  teaching 
her  to  say  stratum  when  that  is  what  she  means, 
I  slxill  have  done  an  excellent  thing.  I  may 


140  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

confide  to  you  that  her  friends  are  very  weary  of 
what  she  does  not  know  about  geology.  Ah, 
Mr.  Bradford  is  going  to  read.  Some  one  usu 
ally  opens  the  session  by  reading  a  selection. 
I'm  glad  it's  not  Mr.  Herndon,  for  he  never 
reads  anything  but  '  Sardello.'  He  says  we 
don't  meet  to  discuss  what  we  know,  but  what 
we  don't  know.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  Miss  Tut- 
tle,  I  have  reached  that  age  when  I  like  to  talk 
about  things  I  understand." 

There  was  such  a  whimsical  look  on  the  speak 
er's  face  that  Rowena  could  not  tell  if  she  were 
speaking  as  she  felt.  Before  she  could  make  any 
attempt  at  a  reply  some  one  rapped  on  a  table 
which  held  many  different  copies  of  the  poet 
they  were  to  study. 

A  stout  man  with  a  very  large  bald  head  and 
English  whiskers  said  in  a  heavy  voice  that  Mr. 
Bradford  had  kindly  consented  to  read  for  them. 

"  That  is  Mr.  Herndon,"  said  Mrs.  Sears.  "  He 
lives  to  struggle  with  things  he  doesn't  compre 
hend.  The  moment  he  sees  a  subject  clearly, 
that  moment  it  ceases  to  interest  him.  Odd, 
isn't  it?" 

Instead  of  standing  there  by  the  table,  which 
was  very  far  away  from  the  couch  which  held 
Mrs.  Sears  and  Rowena,  Mr.  Bradford  sauntered 
down  the  room  until  he  came  to  a  window  near 
that  couch.  He  stood  in  a  nonchalant  attitude, 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  141 

with  his  back  to  the  light.  As  a  reader  in  select 
companies  he  was  rather  of  a  lion,  but  this  girl 
from  the  country  could  not  know  that,  and  she 
would  not  have  respected  him  any  more  had  she 
known  it. 

The  young  man  began  : 

"  O  lyric  Love,  half  angel  and  half  bird, 
And  all  a  wonder  and  a  wild  desire, — 

His  voice  was  not  specially  musical,  but  it  in 
terpreted  the  words  with  a  force  as  if  fire  ran 
along  with  his  utterance.  Rowena  felt  her  heart 
burning ;  every  syllable  clove  its  way  to  her  soul. 
Had  there  been  a  human  being  who  could  write 
such  words  as  those  ?  And  he  had  loved.  And 
he  had  lost.  But  he  could  not  despair. 

She  did  not  think  of  the  reader  at  all.  She 
did  not  know  that  after  those  two  first  lines  his 
eyes  had  left  the  book  and  were,  though  not 
openly,  watching  her. 

Miss  Phillipps  thought  she  had  never  heard 
her  cousin  read  so  well.  There  was  not  the  least 
art  about  it.  He  was  simply  letting  himself  be 
borne  on  by  the  lines.  Even  she  forgot  herself 
in  listening.  And  she  forgot  Rowena,  until  just 
as  Bradford  came  to  the  last.  Then,  as  she  saw 
the  girl,  a  cloud  came  over  her  face.  It  was 
cruel  to  play  on  a  sensitive  and  unsophisticated 
nature  in  this  way.  And  yet  Miss  Phillipps 


142  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

knew  that  she  had  never  loved  Rowena  as 
warmly  as  at  this  moment.  The  young  face 
gleamed  transparent — the  eyes  seemed  reaching 
out  to  heaven  itself. 

Silently  Miss  Phillipps  glided  round  behind 
her  guests.  Again  she  was  conscious  of  that  de 
sire  to  protect  Rowena. 

There  was  an  instant  murmur  as  the  reader's 
voice  ceased.  Rowena  heard  some  one  whisper, 
"Dear!"  close  behind  her.  She  knew  the  tone, 
and  interpreted  it. 

She  so  quickly  recovered  her  ordinary  look 
that  her  friend's  estimate  of  her  rose  greatly. 

Miss  Phillipps  did  not  address  her  again ;  she 
made  some  remark  about  Browning  as  a  poet  of 
the  emotions. 

Mr.  Hcrndon  rose  to  read  a  portion  of  "  Childe 
Roland." 

Miss  Sargeant  said,  when  the  portion  had  been 
read,  that  she  judged  that  the  passage  was  so 
"electrically  stimulating"  that  it  was  not  need 
ful  to  know  clearly  what  it  meant. 

Another  young  lady,  in  an  almost  man-like 
severity  of  costume,  said  that  what  had  most 
struck  her  in  this  author  was  his  "  formative  en 
ergy."  He  created,  he  energized  :  he  said  "  Let 
this  be,"  and  straightway  it  was.  He  was,  more 
than  any  one  who  had  come  before  him,  a  kind 
of  god. 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  143 

Miss  Sargeant  now  said  earnestly  that  he  was, 
above  all  else,  Bostonian.  There  were  some  nat 
ures  so  endowed  that,  though  they  had  never 
seen  Boston,  they  were  yet  Bostonian.  She  con 
sidered  Browning  so  endowed. 

Rowena  heard  in  amazement.  She  saw  Miss 
Phillipps's  lips  fold  tightly  together.  She  saw 
the  smile  on  Keats  Bradford's  face.  Mrs.  Sears 
turned  to  her  with  an  impatient  movement. 

"  I  wonder  why  it  so  often  happens,"  she  said, 
"  that  people  with  the  least  mind  are  so  ready  to 
let  us  know  their  limitations." 

Mr.  Herndon  said  ponderously  that  he  be 
lieved  the  question  now  before  the  club  was  the 
question  as  to  what  the  dark  tower  was.  It  was 
asserted  positively  that  "Childe  Roland  to  the 
dark  tower  came,"  but  what  was  the  tower? 
Symbolical,  of  course.  But  symbolical  of  what  ?" 

"  '  The  round  squat  tower,  blind  as  a  fool's 
heart,'  "  recited  Miss  Sargeant. 

"'Built  of  brownstone  '  —  you  see  they  used 
brownstone — '  without  a  counterpart  in  the  whole 
world.'  " 

This  girl  sat  by  a  table  holding  a  volume  of 
poems  in  her  hand.  She  was  perfectly  sure  of 
herself.  She  never  meant  to  give  up  this  club. 
She  knew  they  could  not  get  along  without  her, 
and  she  loved  to  throw  light.  She  knew  that 
her  own  ideas  were  clear. 


144  ROWENY   IN   BOSTON. 

Rowena  rose  and  walked  to  the  table,  taking 
up  one  of  the  copies  of  the  poem  that  lay  there. 
By  this  time  she  was  so  interested  that  she  had 
forgotten  her  surroundings. 

She  resumed  her  seat  and  read  the  poem  for 
the  first  time,  experiencing  a  strange,  baffled  feel 
ing,  and  that  kind  of  admiration  awakened  by 
power,  even  when  it  is  obscure  power.  She  read 
the  poem  again,  her  face  lightening.  She  looked 
up  with  flashing  eyes.  She  leaned  forward.  She 
fastened  her  glance  on  Mr.  Herndon. 

"It  is  glorious  endeavor  —  sticking  to  your 
ideal — it  is  keeping  on  with  the  fight — dauntless 
— courageous — it  is — oh,  how  hard  it  is  to  find 
words !" 

A  deep  red  covered  her  face.  She  suddenly 
sank  back,  almost  against  Mrs.  Sears.  But  she 
kept  her  fiery  glance  on  Mr.  Herndon.  Before 
that  gentleman  could  speak  Miss  Sargeant,  in 
her  voice  like  the  rattling  of  dry  sticks,  made 
this  remark : 

"That  is  very  well.  But  what  is  the  tower? 
We  are  losing  sight  of  the  main  subject.  A 
brownstone  tower — we  know  that  much." 

Mr.  Bradford  advanced  from  the  window  where 
he  had  remained  since  he  read  from  The  Ring 
and  the  Book. 

"  Miss  Tuttle  is  wight,"  he  said. 

He  looked  over  at  the  girl. 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  145 

"  Of  course  we  are  glad  to  know  about  the 
brownstone,"  bowing  to  Miss  Sargeant.  "  We 
have  Mr.  Browning's  explicit  word  for  that.  I 
cannot  help  wishing  we  could  know  if  there  was 
a  bay  window,  or  anything  of  that  sort ;  but  we 
can  only  judge  by  internal  evidence.  I  think 
from  the  text  it  was  a  plain  tower,  without  any 
such  window.  What  is  your  opinion,  Miss  Sar 
geant  ?" 

Miss  Phillipps  had  been  standing  with  one 
hand  leaning  on  a  table.  She  walked  forward. 
Her  face  did  not  often  flush,  but  it  was  flushed 
now. 

"  How  silly  we  all  are,"  she  exclaimed,  with 
that  air  she  had  of  being  permitted  to  say  any 
thing.  She  went  on  rapidly,  and  with  the  man 
ner  of  one  who  gives  an  ultimate  decision. 

"  It  is  just  a  gloomy  phantasy — the  sporting 
of  a  strong  mind.  We  take  it  seriously,  we  try 
to  find  what  is  not  there." 

She  spoke  nearly  ten  minutes,  carried  on  by  a 
kind  of  strenuous  earnestness  that  often  took 
possession  of  her  when  she  spoke  at  any  gather 
ing  of  people.  She  showed  a  power  which  re 
vealed  to  Rowena  why  women  concerned  in  any 
public  meetings  usually  tried  to  have  "  that  Miss 
Phillipps  "  one  of  the  speakers. 

After  she  had  ceased,  Rowena  cared  very  little 
for  what  followed.  She  hardly  listened  to  it. 


146  ROWENY   IN    BOSTON. 

She  sat  quietly  by  Mrs.  Sears,  and  heard  vaguely 
all  the  talk. 

Mr.  Bradford  came  and  stood  behind  the 
couch  where  she  sat.  Sometimes  he  bent  over 
and  said  a  word  or  two  in  an  undertone  to 
Mrs.  Sears.  It  was  always  said  so  that  Rowena 
might  hear  it.  He  always  glanced  at  her.  He 
found  it  extremely  pleasant  to  stand  there,  and 
he  liked  very  much  to  do  things  which  he  found 
to  be  pleasant.  This  girl  had  gratified  a  some 
what  exacting  taste  the  first  time  he  had  seen 
her  on  Tremont  Street,  with  her  portfolio  under 
her  arm.  He  had  been  rather  surprised  at  him 
self  that  he  had  remembered  her  face  and  figure 
so  well.  Young  women  were  usually  very  flat 
and  unprofitable.  They  made  eyes,  they  put  in 
flections  in  the  voice,  they  sidled  ;  they  pranced, 
or  they  were  demure,  not  because  they  really 
were  so,  but  because  they  chose  to  appear  so. 
And  they  were,  some  of  them,  painfully  intel 
lectual;  they  kept  one's  mind  strained  up  to  the 
verge  of  insanity;  they  never  let  one  down. 

This  young  man,  lounging  behind  the  couch 
where  Rowena  sat,  was  conscious  of  a  delightful 
feeling  of  refreshment.  He  did  not  speak  to  her, 
because  it  was  enough  to  be  there,  knowing  that 
he  might  address  her  if  he  chose.  Since  it  was  a 
Browning  day,  it  was  appropriate  that  he  should 
think  of  that  much -quoted  line  from  Evelyn 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  147 

Hope  about  "  spirit,  fire  and  dew."  He  even 
went  further  than  that.  His  mind  suddenly 
seized  upon, 

"There's  a  woman  like  a  dew-drop, 
She's  so  purer  than  the  purest." 

The  whole  song  murmured  itself  over,  and  the 
sense  of  it  tingled  in  his  veins  and  diffused  itself 
deliciously  through  him.  He  had  not  thought  he 
was  impressionable  ;  certainly  he  had  not  been  so 
in  these  later  years.  But  then,  with  an  inward 
smile,  he  told  himself  a  man  did  not  often  meet 
a  woman  like  this  one.  The  city  life  spoiled 
women ;  so  did  country  life  spoil  them,  in  its  way. 

When  at  last  the  club  broke  up  and  the  mem 
bers  were  departing,  Miss  Phillipps  detained  Ro- 
wena. 

"  Will  any  one  be  frightened  if  you  don't  go 
back  to  that  Hudson-Street  place  to-night?"  she 
asked. 

"I  don't  suppose  they  will  even  know  whether 
I'm  there  or  not,"  was  the  reply. 

"Then,  of  course,  you'll  stay.  Keats,  there  is 
no  need  for  you  to  linger." 

"  You  are  awfully  careless  about  hurting  a  fel 
low's  self-esteem,  Vanessa,"  said  the  man.  "I 
don't  want  to  go  yet.  I  want  to  sit  by  this  fire  a 
minute.  I'm  so  weary  of  Miss  Sargeant  and  that 
other  little  weasel  of  a  girl." 


148  ROWENY   IN    BOSTON. 

He  flung  himself  down  and  looked  into  the 
fireplace,  where  the  log  was  now  a  big  coal. 

The  two  girls  were  standing.  "  She  was  just 
like  a  weasel,"  responded  Rowena,  eagerly ;  "and 
there's  one  at  R.  H.  Black's — a  saleslady ;  only 
one  is  a  member  of  a  Browning  Club,  and  I 
guess  the  other  isn't,"  she  laughed.  She  was 
in  great  spirits,  better  than  at  any  time  since 
she  had  come  to  Boston.  "  Miss  Phillipps  " — 
she  turned  with  an  impulsively  fond  movement 
towards  that  lady — "you  said  you  had  been 
weeding  out  your  club  ;  why  didn't  you  weed 
out  Miss  Sargeant  ?" 

"  Yes,  why  didn't  you  ?"  from  Bradford. 

But  Miss  Phillipps  did  not  choose  to  reply. 
She  sat  down  and  drew  Rowena  to  her  side. 
She  \vas  silent.  She  looked  thoughtful,  even 
slightly  troubled.  But  she  was  very  tender 
towards  the  girl  near  her.  She  did  not  notice 
her  cousin.  Still,  he  was  content  not  to  be  no 
ticed  by  her. 

"  I  intended  to  take  Miss  Tuttle  down  to  what 
you  call  that  Hudson-Street  place,"  he  said,  after 
a  silence.  "  I  thought  she  might  give  me  pri 
vately  some  of  her  views  of  us  to-night.  But, 
since  I  am  not  to  be  useful  that  way,  I  can  be 
simply  ornamental — and  comfortable,  here." 

He  stretched  his  feet  towards  the  fire  and 
thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets. 


ROWENY   IN    BOSTON.  149 

Rowena  looked  at  him  with  a  laugh  in  her 
eyes.  The  glance  was  returned.  Then  she  turn 
ed  her  own  gaze  towards  the  fire.  She  felt  the 
pressure  of  Miss  Phillipps's  arm  about  her  shoul 
ders,  and  the  touch  gave  her  happiness.  She  was 
beginning  to  lose  that  fear  she  had  had  of  fickle 
ness  in  her  friend's  regard  for  her.  Just  now  she 
had  no  fear  of  anything.  She  had  never  been  so 
much  at  home  with  any  one.  Looking  back  now 
she  told  herself  that,  of  course,  she  had  been  at 
home  with  Georgie  Warner.  But  Georgie,  though 
she  loved  her,  "  had  not  known  things."  And 
then,  one  slightest  touch  of  Miss  Phillipps's  hand 
was  more  of  a  caress  than  a  vigorous  hug  from 
Georgie.  Rowena  had  not  known  there  were 
such  people  in  the  world  as  this  new  friend  of 
hers.  She  did  not  know  now  but  that  the  world 
was  full  of  them,  only  they  did  not  live  out  near 
Middle  Village,  or  the  Corners,  or  on  Hudson 
Street. 

The  silence  continued  so  long  that  Bradford 
rose.  There  was  still  humming  over  in  his  mind 
"  There's  a  woman  like  a  dew-drop."  He  had 
been  dangerously  near  repeating  those  words 
once  or  twice  as  he  sat  there. 

"  Keats,  I  do  wish  you  would  go,"  said  his 
cousin. 

"Thank  you,"  he  responded,"  I  don't  think  I 
can  stay  any  longer  this  evening,  though  you 


150  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

urge  me  so  kindly.  Good-night,  Vanessa.  Good 
night,  Miss  Tuttle." 

He  held  out  his  hand,  a  slender  hand  like  that 
of  his  cousin. 

He  strolled  to  the  door.     He  came  back. 

"  Are  you  weally  going  to  pweside  at  the  Psy 
chical  Wesearch  to-morrow, Vanessa?" 

He  looked  down  at  the  two,  but  saw  only  the 
younger  face  with  its  pure  outline  and  shining 
eyes. 

"Yes,  I  am." 

"Oh, well,"  shrugging  his  shoulders,"  they  told 
me  I  must  pweside  if  you  concluded  not  to  do  it 
yourself.  I  wanted  to  get  myself  up  a  bit,  don't 
you  know." 

He  stood  an  instant.  His  cousin  did  not  glance 
at  him,  or  she  would  have  been  startled  by  some 
thing  in  his  face. 

"Your  sweetness  is  very  long  drawn  out  to 
night,  Keats,"  she  said. 

"  I  know  it.  I'm  weally  going  now.  Good 
night,"  to  Rowena,  who  bent  her  head  in  si 
lence. 

This  time  the  young  man  lifted  the  curtain  at 
the  entrance,  and  presently  the  outer  door  shut 
heavily. 

When  he  reached  the  pavement  he  straight 
ened  himself  and  stood  still  a  moment,  looking 
vaguely  about  him.  Then  he  smiled.  Then  he 


ROWENY   IN    BOSTON.  151 

gave  a  long,  shrill  whistle,  and  started  to  walk 
briskly  down  the  street. 

In  the  room  he  had  just  left  the  silence  con 
tinued  for  some  time. 

Rowena,  within  her  companion's  arm,  looked 
happily  into  the  fire. 

"  Was  that  a  country  friend  with  whom  I  saw 
you  at  the  theatre?" 

The  question  came  like  a  kind  of  blow  to  the 
girl.  She  moved  uneasily. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered. 

"  Are  you  going  to  marry  him  ?"  Rowena  now 
sat  upright. 

"  No  ;  no,  indeed  !"  she  almost  cried  out. 

"  He  means  to  marry  you.  He  has  a  good 
face ;  he  has  also  a  strong  will." 

Rowena's  heart  contracted.  She  hurriedly 
rose  and  stood  before  her  questioner. 

"  Why  do  you  talk  to  me  like  that  ?"  she  ex 
claimed. 

Instead  of  replying,  Miss  Phillipps  said : 

"  You  should  not  go  alone  with  him  to  the 
theatre." 

Rowena  blushed.  "  Not  go  alone  with  Philip 
Barrett  ?"  she  said.  "  Not  go  alone  with  Philip  ?" 

The  eyes  of  the  elder  woman  were  searching 
the  face  before  her. 

"  Perhaps,  without  really  knowing  it,  you  love 
him,"  she  said. 


152  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

Rowena  turned  indignantly  away  from  that 
gaze. 

The  words  opened  bewildering  possibilities  to 
her.  Did  she  not  know  herself  ?  She  recalled 
Philip's  face  as  he  had  said  "  he  didn't  want  to 
plague  her,"  and  "  he  could  wait."  The  recol 
lection  almost  melted  her.  She  could  at  this 
moment  recall  nothing  of  all  that  in  his  appear 
ance  which  had  irritated  her.  She  was  only 
conscious  of  his  noble  unselfishness  and  his 
devotion. 

"  I  don't  think  I  love  him,"  she  said. 

Her  face  took  on  a  wistful  expression.  She 
looked  down  at  her  companion. 

"  Don't  you  know  when  you  love  a  man  ?"  she 
asked. 

Miss  Phillipps  laughed  slightly.  She  reached 
forth  and  drew  the  girl  down  by  her  again. 

"According  to  the  old-fashioned  stories,"  she 
replied,  "  we  knew  when  we  loved  just  as  we 
knew  when  lightning  flashed  before  our  eyes. 
But  we  have  changed  all  that.  Now  we  are  not 
sure  of  anything." 

Rowena  pressed  closely.  She  timidly  lifted 
her  face  so  that  her  friend  could  look  down  into 
her  eyes. 

"  I  think  I'm  almost  sure  of  one  thing,"  she 
whispered.  She  put  her  lips  to  the  warm  palm 
of  the  hand  that  had  drawn  her  near. 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  153 

"  Of  what  ?" 

"  If  I  felt  to  a  man  as  I  feel  to  you  I  should 
know  I  loved  him." 

Miss  Phillipps's  eyes  flashed  through  a  sudden 
dew.  She  smiled  as  few  ever  saw  her  smile. 

"  My  darling  !"  she  said. 


154  ROWENY   IN    BOSTON. 


XI. 

GEORGIE. 

WHEN  Rowena  went  back  the  next  day  to  her 
attic  on  Hudson  Street  she  began  to  work  ar 
dently.  The  old  inspiration  and  love  of  her  art 
burned  within  her.  She  sat  at  her  easel,  and  her 
brush  made  no  false  move. 

And  yet  it  did  not  seem  to  her  that  she  was 
thinking  so  much  of  what  she  was  doing  as  of 
the  Browning  Club,  and  of  her  friend  with  whom 
she  had  breakfasted.  That  was  ideal  life.  She 
smiled  as  she  held  her  brush  over  her  palette, 
choosing  her  colors.  She  chose  the  right  colors 
this  morning. 

She  rose  and  walked  away  to  view  her  work. 

"  If  I  might  always  drink  coffee  from  a  cup 
like  that,"  she  said  aloud,  laughing  like  a  child, 
"and  always  have  Miss  Phillipps  opposite  me  as 
I  drank  it,  perhaps  then  my  work  would  be 
worth  while.  Can  it  be  that  I  am  a  Sybarite 
after  all?  Can  Hiram  Tuttle's  daughter,  who 
was  '  sut  on  goin'  to  Borston,'  be  a  Sybarite  ?" 

She  laughed  again. 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  155 

She  approached  her  canvas  and  put  a  few 
more  touches  on  the  face  she  was  sketching. 

She  had  believed  that  the  longer  she  stayed 
away  from  home  the  more  strong  would  be  her 
desire  to  return  to  it.  She  was  surprised  to 
know  that  the  precise  opposite  might  be  true. 

This  thought  passed  rapidly  through  her 
mind,  and  immediately  was  superseded  by  mem 
ories  of  the  hours  she  had  just  spent  in  Charles 
Street.  She  recalled  that  Miss  Phillipps  had 
quoted  to  her  some  words  of  George  Eliot,  that 
"  No  list  of  circumstances  ever  made  happiness." 

That  must  be  true.  Just  now  Rowena  felt 
that  she  could  be  happy  anywhere,  that 

"God's  in  His  heaven, 
All's  right  with  the  world." 

Outside  the  day  was  balmy  and  delightful. 
The  fire  in  the  cylinder  stove  made  her  room  too 
warm.  She  knew  that  in  the  orchard  at  home 
the  bluebirds  and  "Harry-wickets"  were  sing 
ing;  that  robins  were  hopping  about  in  the 
yard  ;  the  frogs  peeping  in  the  meadow  back  of 
the  house.  Also,  sure  sign  that  spring  was  well 
advanced,  men  were  coming  up  from  Taunton 
with  new  herring  for  sale  ;  it  was  now  so  late 
that  the  herring  would  be  cheap  enough  to  buy. 

As  she  thought  of  all  these  things  her  heart 
did  not  ache  as  it  had  done  at  such  memories  ; 


156  ROWENV    IN   BOSTON. 

she  was  conscious  only  of  a  gentle  and  not  un 
pleasant  sadness. 

She  worked  all  the  forenoon  and  into  the 
afternoon,  only  pausing  to  eat  the  chop  she 
broiled  over  the  coals. 

She  had  actually  forgotten  that  this  was  the 
day  of  the  week  when  Uncle  Reuben  usually 
came  in. 

There  was  a  sound  on  the  stairs.  A  voice 
which  she  did  not  recognize,  but  which  was 
familiar,  said : 

"  I  guess  I  c'n  find  my  way  somehow." 

Rowena  opened  her  door.  Somebody  in  the 
gloom  shouted : 

"  There  she  is  now !" 

Somebody  sprang  at  her,  and  hugged  her  and 
kissed  her. 

"  It's  Georgie  Warner!"  cried  Rowena,  pulling 
the  new-comer  into  the  room  and  shutting  the 
door. 

"  Of  course  it's  Georgie  Warner,"  exclaimed 
the  owner  of  that  name.  "  I've  been  calc'latin' 
on  this  for  more'n  a  month,  but  I  wanted  to  sur 
prise  ye.  'n'  I  guess  I've  done  it.  I  told  mother  's 
soon  's  the  roads  got  settled  I  sh'd  git  a  chance 
to  come  in  with  your  uncle  Reuben ;  'n'  here  I 
am.  How  be  ye,  anyway  ?" 

Although  Georgie  taught  school,  and  could 
"talk  grammar"  when  it  was  necessary,  she  did 


ROWENY   IN    BOSTON.  157 

not  consider  it  necessary  now.  She  fell  back 
upon  the  dialect  that  slipped  so  easily  from  her 
tongue. 

She  looked  sharply  at  Rowena  as  that  girl  re 
plied  that  she  was  perfectly  well,  and  "  awful 
glad  "  to  see  Georgie. 

After  a  few  moments  of  incessant  talking, 
Rowena  bethought  herself  that  now  would  be 
an  excellent  time  to  use  one  of  the  meal  tickets 
that  Philip  had  left  with  her.  Mrs.  Jarvis's  din 
ner  extended  from  twelve  until  two.  They  had 
just  time.  Georgie  tried  not  to  be  impressed 
with  the  luxury  and  profuseness  before  her.  It 
was  a  strange  thing  to  have  a  servant  come  and 
mention  several  kinds  of  meat  and  fish  to  her 
and  wait  for  her  to  choose.  At  home,  if  they 
had  baked  sparerib  they  had  no  other  meat. 
This  variety  was  princely.  But  Georgie  was  not 
so  overcome  but  that  she  ate  heartily.  Rowena 
sat  by  her  and  was  hospitable. 

There  were  not  many  now  at  the  table ;  but 
before  the  two  girls  left,  while  Georgie  was  eat 
ing  cranberry-pie,  and  wishing  she  knew  how  the 
lemon-pie  tasted,  a  young  man  came  swaggering 
round  the  room  and  sat  down  opposite.  He 
seemed  so  very  glad  to  see  Rowena  that  Georgie 
was  greatly  impressed.  Of  course  it  was  Fer 
dinand  Foster.  He  was  bedecked  with  his 
chain;  his  necktie  to-day  was  not  pink,  but  it 


158  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

was  ornate.  He  had  a  daffodil  in  his  button 
hole. 

He  eagerly  told  Rovvena  that  he  had  secured 
first-rate  seats  for  to-morrow  night — first  row  in 
the  balcony.  His  aunt  had  put  off  all  the  spir 
its,  so  as  to  make  a  sure  thing  of  it.  They'd 
have  the  jolliest  kind  of  a  time.  If  Miss  Tuttle 
did  not  think  it  wicked,  he  would  order  some 
champagne  for  supper.  Would  she  let  him  or 
der  it? 

"  Oh  no  ;  that  would  be  foolish,"  said  Rowena. 
"  Don't  order  it." 

She  rather  liked  Mr.  Foster ;  he  was  so  good- 
natured,  and  such  a  rattle  ;  she  need  never  take 
him  seriously. 

"Just  as  you  say,  of  course,"  he  answered; 
"  but  there's  nothing  a  bit  wicked  about  cham 
pagne." 

Georgie's  amazement  grew  with  every  moment. 
Her  last  morsel  of  pie  nearly  choked  her. 

When  the  two  were  safe  up-stairs  again  she 
looked  solemnly  at  Rowena. 

"  I  s'pose,"  she  said,  "  that  is  your  beau.  He 
dresses  beautiful,  'n'  he  seems  real  pleasant ; 
but —  She  did  not  know  how  to  go  on.  She 
went  to  the  small  looking-glass  and  patted  her 
hair.  Rowena  watched  her  with  eyes  full  of 
laughter.  Georgie  had  on  her  best  blue  cash 
mere  gown,  with  imitation  Valenciennes  about 


ROWENY   IN    BOSTON.  159 

the  throat  and  wrists.  Marthy  S.  had  cut  this 
gown,  and  it  bound  about  the  chest  and  fettered 
the  arms,  like  all  of  that  lady's  fitting.  But 
Georgie  was  conscious  of  being  very  much  dress 
ed  in  it ;  she  had  even  wondered  what  Mr.  Fos 
ter  thought  of  it. 

Now,  standing  at  the  glass,  she  wondered 
again,  as'  she  went  through  small,  pigeon -like 
movements. 

"But  what?"  asked  her  friend. 

"Why,  I  must  say  I  was  as  surprised  's  I  could 
be  when  the  gentleman  mentioned  that  wine. 
For  my  part,  I've  always  considered  champagne 
as  the  wickedest  kind  of  wine  there  is.  I  guess 
all  them  horrid,  mean  women  you  read  about 
always  drink  it,  don't  they?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Mebby  you  drink  it,  Roweny?" — in  a  hushed 
whisper. 

"  No  ;  I  never  tasted  it  in  my  life." 

Georgie's  face  showed  her  relief.  She  gazed 
intently  at  her  companion. 

"  Yes ;  you  be  changed,  somehow.  Philup  told 
me  you  was  kind  of  dif'runt,  somehow ;  'n'  you 
be." 

"  I'm  not  a  particle  different.  How  can  you 
be  so  foolish?" 

Rowena  spoke  angrily.  She  could  not  help 
asking: 


l6o  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

"Did  Philip  say  that?  He  ought  to  have 
known  better." 

"  He  told  me.  He  said  he  shouldn't  mention 
it  to  another  soul.  He  said  you  was  just  as 
nice,  nicer,  'f  anything,  but  you  was  dif  runt — he 
couldn't  tell  how ;  I  can't  tell  how,  either." 

"Of  course  you  can't  tell.  Tisn't  so!"  indig 
nantly. 

Georgie  and  Rowena  sat  down  on  the  side  of 
the  bed.  They  "  took  hold  hands,"  as  they  had 
done  when  children. 

"Yes;  'tis  so,  too,"  responded  Georgie,  with 
the  persistence  that  had  characterized  her  when 
a  child.  "  I  was  kinder  sorry  for  Philup ;  he 
seemed  so  sorter  down.  But  he  said  you  treat 
ed  him  the  best  kind,  'n'  he  had  a  grand  time 
goin'  round  with  you.  Do  you  go  round  with 
Mr.  Foster  much  ?" 

Rowena's  face  was  burning  now  with  various 
emotions. 

"  I  don't  go  round  with  him  at  all,  and  he  isn't 
my  —  beau!"  —  flinging  out  the  last  word  in 
disgust. 

"  But  you're  goin'  somewhere  with  him. 
What'd  he  mean  by  the  balcony, 'n'  so  on?" 

"  I  did  say  I'd  go  to  the  theatre  with  him  and 
his  aunt." 

"  Oh,  his  aunt's  goin'  ?" 

This    fact    seemed    to    modify  the    aspect    of 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  l6l 

things,  in  Georgie's  eyes.  Where  she  lived,  if  a 
man  really  admired  a  girl,  no  third  party  ever 
accompanied  the  two  anywhere.  She  was  be 
wildered.  She  shook  her  head. 

"  I  don't  care,"  she  said,  emphatically,  "  he's 
jest  awfully  taken  with  you — even  if  his  aunt  is 
goin'." 

"  It  isn't  just  as  it  is  at  home,"  said  Rowena, 
somewhat  sadly.  "  Men  are  not  taken  with  any 
body,  even  if  they  dp  appear  to  be.  That  Mr. 
Foster  is  only  a — oh,  a  fellow  who  has  his  meals 
here,"  with  a  laugh,  "and  has  an  aunt  who  is  a 
medium." 

Georgie  had  something  to  communicate  con 
cerning  her  own  history,  or  she  would  have  given 
a  more  extended  expression  to  her  horror  that 
Rowena  should  know  a  medium.  She  knew 
there  were  mediums  as  she  knew  there  were 
hyenas. 

She  had  come  in  to  tell  about  her  own  love 
affair,  and  to  see  Rowena.  She  considered 
Rowena  her  most  intimate  friend,  and  half  the 
delight  of  having  a  love  affair  would  be  lost  if 
she  could  not  tell  her  most  intimate  friend 
about  it. 

She  said  she  did  hope  she  never  should  know 
a  medium.  She  never  had  known  one,  and 
mebby  she  never  should. 

Having  said  this  she  was  silent.     She  gazed 


162  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

at  her  friend  with  a  face  of  mingled  curiosity 
and  importance.  The  admiration  in  Mr.  Foster's 
eyes  when  he  had  looked  at  Rowena,  and  he  had 
looked  at  her  all  the  time,  had  greatly  impressed 
Georgie,  and  raised  Rowena  in  her  estimation,  if 
that  were  possible. 

And  what  was  there  "  dif'runt "  in  her  com 
panion?  She  was  just  as  cordial  and  warm  in 
her  manner,  "jest  as  dear's  she  could  be."  She 
had  nothing  to  complain  of.  What  was  it  ? 

She  nestled  closer  to  her  as  they  sat  on  the 
bed.  She  blushed.  She  said  she  s'posed  Ro- 
weny  hadn't  heard  anything  special,  had  she? 

Rowena  said  promptly  that  she  had  received 
a  despatch  about  a  certain  person  in  Middle  Vil 
lage — a  red -headed  person,  wasn't  it  —  with  a 
mischievous  glance. 

Georgie  said  she  must  own  that  she  s'posed 
his  hair  was  red,  but  he  was  real  good,  and  there 
vva'n't  no  likelier  man  anywhere  round.  But 
she  would  tell  Roweny,  though  she  hadn't  let 
out  a  word  to  any  one  else  that  she  cared,  and 
she  shouldn't,  either ;  that  there  was  one  thing 
she  wished  could  be  changed,  but  it  couldn't  be 
changed,  and  it  wa'n't  no  use  cryin'  for  spilt 
milk." 

She  leaned  her  head  on  Rowena's  shoulder, 
and  was  held  closely  there.  At  last  Rowena 
said : 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  163 

"  I'm  so  sorry  if  something  isn't  right.  Are 
you  going  to  tell  me  what  it  is  ?  Perhaps  it 
won't  always  be  so." 

"  Yes,  it'll  always  be  so,  s'long  's  the  world 
stands ;  'n'  the  worst  of  it  is  everybody  else 
knows  it.  It'll  always  be  true  that  Jim  Town- 
shend  was  jilted  by  that  nasty  old  Jewett  girl  at 
the  Corners.  Homely  old  thing,  with  her  nose 
all  turned  up !" 

Georgie  sobbed,  but  directly  controlled  herself. 

"You've  seen  Mary  Jane  Jewett,  ain't  you? 
She  used  to  come  over  to  evenin'  meetin's  some 
times.  She's  one  of  them  kind  that  always  has 
a  beau.  I'd  know  what  'tis,  but  the  fellers  are 
continually  running  after  her.  She's  as  homely 
as  pison,  'n'  as  bold  as  brass." 

"  I've  seen  her,"  said  Rowena.  "  It's  unac 
countable  that  men  like  that  kind  of  woman." 

"Ain't  it?"  flashed  out  Georgie.  "You  see, 
I'm  takin'  her  leavin's.  Jim  was  crazy  about 
her.  He  expected  to  marry  her.  All  to  once't 
she  give  him  the  mitten,  and  was  goin'  with 
Charley  Simmons.  His  mother  was  mighty  glad 
it  was  broke  off.  But  she  said  Jim  was  in  a  ter 
rible  way  for  a  long  time.  They  'most  lost  their 
crop  er  medder  hay  'cause  Jim  was  so  upset. 
You  see  it  happened  'long  the  first  of  last  Au 
gust.  Then  I  got  acquainted  with  Jim.  He's 
ben  workin'  at  the  Corners  this  last  winter,  'n' 


1 64  ROWENY   IN    BOSTON. 

he  used  to  come  real  often  to  a  place  where  I 
had  to  board  in  the  worst  of  the  weather.  He's 
jest  's  good  's  he  can  be.  I'd  know  what  did 
make  him  like  that  girl." 

Georgie  paused,  rather  breathless,  her  face  red 
and  her  eyes  full  of  indignant  tears. 

"  Has  he  ever  said  anything  about  her  to 
you  ?" 

"  Oh  yes ;  he  said  she  bewitched  him.  He 
said  he  couldn't  help  it.  He  said  he  guessed  it 
was  jest  like  being  drunk.  But  she  wa'n't  noth- 
in'  to  him  now,  and  never  would  be  again.  He 
said  he  thanked  the  Lord  he  had  got  acquainted 
with  me.  He's  jest 's  good  's  he  can  be." 

Here  Georgie  sobbed  once  more.  Rowena 
tried  to  think  what  to  say  to  her.  She  sympa 
thized  almost  too  keenly  to  be  able  to  speak  easi 
ly.  She  plainly  remembered  "  that  Jewett  girl," 
and  the  memory  of  that  face  was  not  reassuring. 
It  was  an  animal  face,  not  pretty,  but  there  had 
been  something  in  the  owner  of  it  that  had  made 
Rowena  watch  her  as  she  talked  with  her  at 
tendant,  watch  and  distrust  her,  thoroughly  re 
pelled. 

"  I  s'pose  you  think  I'm  jest  as  silly  's  a  goose," 
at  last  said  Georgie. 

"No,  I  don't." 

"  But  you  wouldn't  er  taken  up  with  her  leav- 
in's,  would  you  ?" 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  165 

This  fact  appeared  to  be  very  galling  to 
Georgie. 

"  I  shouldn't  worry  about  that,"  Rowena  an 
swered,  cheerfully.  "  Better  be  a  man's  last  love 
than  his  first,"  with  a  laugh.  "  It's  all  right  if 
you  love  each  other,  and  he  is  good.  Not  wor 
thy  of  you,  of  course,"  with  a  hug. 

Georgie  brightened  a  great  deal.  "  Oh,  I  ain't 
half  so  good  's  he  is.  He's  as  stiddy ;  'n'  he's 
got  something  laid  up.  'N'  I'm  makin'  the  love 
liest  pattern  of  a  bedquilt  you  ever  see.  Ma  says 
it  beats  all  I  ever  did  before,  all  holler.  I  shall 
teach  the  summer  term,  for  I  want  to  git  a  little 
more  money,  'n'  then  in  the  fall,  p'raps — " 

She  paused  and  left  a  blank.  She  prattled  on 
without  pause  for  the  next  hour,  all  about  herself 
and  her  plans.  She  said  Rowena's  folks  were  all 
well  and  gittin'  along  first-rate.  Mr.  Tuttle  "  had 
taken  some  sarsaparilla  for  fear  his  humor  would 
work,  it  being  spring,  so."  But  Georgic  believed 
his  humor  hadn't  yet  worked.  There  was  noth 
ing  like  sarsaparilla  if  you  steeped  it  yourself 
and  put  a  little  dandeline  root  in  it.  She  had 
been  taking  some.  She  had  brought  a  bottleful 
of  it  to  Rowena.  She  reckoned  humor  was  as 
liable  to  work  in  Borston  as  anywhere.  The 
bottle  was  in  her  bag,  and  Uncle  Reuben  was 
going  to  bring  the  bag  along  when  he  came  over 
from  "  delivering  them  boats."  She  was  going 


1 66  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

to  stay  all  night  and  go  back  with  Mr.  Little. 
"  They'd  have  time  to  talk  over  everything, 
wouldn't  they?" 

She  seemed  inclined  to  go  back  to  the  subject 
of  the  unusual  pattern  of  the  bedquilt  she  was 
making,  and  to  the  goodness  of  Jim  Townshend. 

But  Rowena  was  able  to  turn  the  tide  some 
what.  She  was  aware  of  a  pricking  of  conscience 
because  she  could  not  be  intensely  interested 
in  that  bedquilt  pattern.  She  wondered  if  this 
lack  of  interest  was  because  she  was  "  dif'runt." 
Had  there  been  a  time  when  this  subject  would 
have  enchained  her  attention? 

She  redoubled  her  efforts  to  listen  absorbedly. 
She  could  not  conceal  from  herself  that  she  was 
getting  weary.  In  a  short  pause  in  the  mono 
logue  she  suddenly  bethought  herself  that  they 
would  go  to  walk.  Although  her  window  had 
long  been  deeply  shadowed,  she  knew  the  sun 
light  was  warm  and  bright  on  the  Common. 
Georgie  would  like  to  look  in  at  the  shop  windows. 

It  turned  out  that  Georgie  was  entirely  unin 
terested  in  the  Common  and  the  State  House, 
and  wished  to  give  her  attention  to  the  things 
in  the  windows. 

At  the  corner  of  Winter  Street  a  gentleman 
jostled  against  them.  He  took  off  his  hat  and 
began  an  apology.  He  had  a  glass  in  his  eye. 

"  Oh,  it  is  Miss  Tuttle,"  he  exclaimed,  eagerly. 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  167 

"  I've  just  been  to  Hudson  Street.  They  couldn't 
find  you.  I  left  something.  My  cousin  would 
have  come,  only  she's  at  the  Psychical  Wesearch, 
you  know." 

He  did  not  linger.     The  crowd  drifted  in. 

"The  land  sake!"  cried  Georgie.  "Is  that 
another — " 

"  Don't  say  beau  !"  interrupted  Rowena,  indig 
nantly. 

"Well,  I  was  goin'  to  say  it,"  confessed  the 
other.  "  What  makes  um  look  so  awful  glad 
when  they  see  you  ?  But  I  don't  wonder  ;  I  sh'd 
think  they  would.  There  always  was  something 
or  other  'bout  you,  Roweny ;  I  never  knew  what. 
This  feller  ain't  so  dressy  as  that  one  we  saw  to 
dinner,  is  he?  But  he's  got  kind  of  a  high  'n' 
mighty  look,  's  if  'twould  do  him  good  to  be 
taken  down,  somehow.  'N'  what  a  funny  little 
glass  that  was  !  How  does  he  keep  it  in  his  eye  ? 
I  sh'd  think  'twould  fall  out.  What  do  you 
s'pose  he's  left  there  where  you  live?" 

Rowena  wondered,  too.  She  answered  that 
she  did  not  know,  something  his  cousin,  Miss 
Phillipps,  had  sent.  Miss  Phillipps  had  been 
very  kind  to  her. 

Georgie  glanced  shrewdly  at  the  girl,  whose 
face  was  touched  by  the  feeling  the  thought  of 
Miss  Phillipps  awakened  in  her.  Georgie's  eyes 
wandered  over  the  figure  by  her  side. 


1 68  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

"  She's  dressed  in  jest  the  same  clo'es,"  she 
said  to  herself.  "  I  s'pose  I  sh'd  be  'shamed  to 
go  round  here  in  that  old  shawl." 

Georgie  wore  a  rough  jacket  which  seemed  to 
have  been  purchased  where  Philip  Barrett  pro 
cured  his  garments,  for  it  produced  the  same  ef 
fect  on  the  beholder.  "  But  Roweny  c'n  carry 
off  things,"  concluded  Georgie  in  her  own 
mind. 

The  two  girls  tramped  about  until  nightfall. 
Georgie  made  several  small  purchases  in  refer 
ence  to  the  fact  that  she  was  "  fixin' " — that  is, 
fixing  to  be  married.  She  thoroughly  enjoyed 
herself.  She  almost  felt  dissipated. 

When  they  returned  Rowena  thought  it  seemed 
a  good  time  to  use  two  more  meal  tickets,  and 
they  went  down  to  Mrs.  Jarvis's  table  again. 

It  was  now  the  hour  of  the  greatest  crowd. 
They  were  obliged  to  wait  a  few  minutes  before 
they  could  have  seats. 

The  salesladies  with  whom  Rowena  had  spent 
that  evening  nodded  and  laughed  at  her.  They 
sat  opposite  to  where  the  two  found  places. 
They  were  talking  loudly  and  earnestly.  Georgie 
thought  they  looked  and  seemed  very  stylish. 
She  listened  greedily  to  what  they  said  about 
the  different  kinds  of  goods  that  were  fashion 
able  this  spring. 

"  There's  been  such  a  feeling  for  small  checks 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  169 

along   back,"  said   one  of   them,  "  but  I  guess 
'tain't  going  to  hold  out." 

"  Yes ;  'n'  you  know  there  was  quite  a  feeling 
for  large  muffs  in  the  first  of  the  winter.  Our 
firm  got  a  lot." 

"  So  did  ours.  Ain't  it  funny  about  the  silk 
mufflers  ?  I  give  up  wearin'  one  's  soon  's  I  saw 
all  the  girls  from  the  country  had  'em.  We  used 
to  say  we  could  tell  what  suburb  a  girl  came 
from  by  the  muffler  she  wore.  If  she  was  from 
Newton,  'twas  blue  and  brocaded.  The  Maiden 
girls  went  into  fine  stripes." 

They  laughed  shrilly.  They  gobbled  and 
drank.  They  talked  of  the  different  theatres, 
and  usually  called  the  more  noted  actors  by  their 
first  names.  They  kept  an  eye  on  Georgie,  who 
did  not  try  to  disguise  her  admiration  for  them. 
She  was  lost  in  looking  at  their  slim  waists  as 
they  left  the  table.  They  all  wore  black  frocks, 
and  these  frocks  encased  their  waists  without  a 
wrinkle,  and  were  as  unyielding  to  any  move 
ment  of  the  wearer  as  if  they  had  been  iron. 
The  bangs  on  their  inane  foreheads  were  all  of 
the  same  length  and  of  the  same  degree  of  friz- 
ziness.  They  only  varied  in  color. 

Miss  Martin,  who  had  "  trained "  so  on  the 
night  of  the  oyster  supper,  was  in  excellent  spir 
its.  She  informed  the  company  that  she  was 
going  to  "  the  Borston "  that  night,  and  she 


170  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

would  bet  they  couldn't  guess  who  had  invited 
her. 

Several  of  the  salesladies  immediately  tried  to 
guess,  and  each  attempt  was  greeted  with  volleys 
of  laughter. 

When  Rowena  and  her  guest  were  mounting 
the  basement  stairs  Georgie  said,  almost  envi 
ously,  that  she  hadn't  known  that  Roweny  had 
so  much  good  society ;  but  then  she  supposed 
Borston  was  full  of  good  society. 

As  they  reached  the  hall  Mrs.  Jarvis,  at  her 
ticket-table,  beckoned  to  them. 

"There's  been  something  left  for  you,  Miss 
Tuttle.  I  didn't  know  what  to  do  with  it  exact 
ly,  and  so  I  had  one  of  the  girls  put  it  down  sul- 
ler.  I  guess  you'll  find  it  all  right." 

"  Goodness  !"  exclaimed  Georgie,  "  what  on 
earth  can  it  be  ?  Can't  I  go  with  ye  to  git  it  ?" 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  171 


XII. 

THE    ADVENT    OF    MARMADUKE. 

THE  two  girls  turned  back  and  groped  their 
way  down  into  the  cellar,  the  liveliest  curiosity 
animating  them. 

It  was  very  dark,  and  very  dismal,  and  very 
damp  down  there.  In  her  surprise  that  what 
Mr.  Bradford  had  brought  should  be  in  the  cel 
lar,  Rowena  had  not  thought  to  go  up  to  her 
own  room  for  her  lamp.  She  did  not  know  of 
any  lamp  nearer  than  her  room.  She  now  pro 
posed  that  she  should  go  for  that  necessary  ar 
ticle,  while  Georgie  should  remain  exactly  where 
she  was  until  the  light  was  brought.  But  Georgie 
protested  that  "she'd  ruther  die  than  stay  there 
a  minute  alone."  She  said  she  had  already 
heard  the  strangest  noise,  and  if  she  should  hear 
it  again  she  would  not  answer  for  her  senses. 

She  grasped  a  fold  of  Rowena's  skirt,  and  thus 
followed  her  companion  up  to  where  that  high 
and  solitary  gas-burner  in  the  hall  shed  light 
on  the  incoming  and  outgoing  reg'lars.  There 
Georgie  consented  to  wait.  And  as  she  waited 


172  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

she  secretly  hoped  that  the  splendid  Mr.  Foster 
would  come  in  to  his  supper  while  she  was 
there.  But  he  did  not  come. 

Presently  the  two  were  in  the  cellar  again,  Ro- 
wena  holding  her  lamp  high  and  walking  slow 
ly,  Georgie  directly  behind  her. 

"There!"  said  the  latter,  "I  heard  that  noise 
agin;  do  you  think  it  can  be  rats?  Why  didn't 
you  ask  Mrs.  Jarvis  what  it  was  that  was  brought? 
How  awful  queer  they  should  have  put  it  here, 
anyway.  Do  you  think  it's  flowers,  or  is  it 
alive?" 

The  rays  of  the  lamp  now  fell  behind  the  stairs 
upon  a  basket,  and  the  basket  moved. 

There  was  a  hole  in  the  cover,  and  from  this 
hole  emerged  a  small,  hairy  head,  with  two  ex 
cessively  bright  eyes  in  it.  A  combination  of 
whine  and  growl  came  from  this  head,  and  the 
basket  rustled  again. 

There  was  a  card  on  the  handle.  The  two 
girls  rushed  at  the  basket.  Could  this  be  "  it  ?" 

It  certainly  was  it,  for  the  card  bore  the  words, 
"  Miss  Rowena  Tuttle." 

It  seemed  hardly  a  moment  before  Rowena 
and  her  friend  were  in  the  attic  room.  The 
cover  was  torn  off.  A  blue -and -tan  Yorkshire 
terrier  put  his  very  hairy  paws  on  the  edge  and 
barked.  Then  he  paused  to  wag  his  stub  tail. 
He  peered  from  under  his  fine,  long  hair  at  his 


ROWENY   IN    BOSTON.  173 

companions,  who  stood  back  to  let  him  do  as  he 
chose,  only  uttering  frantic  exclamations  of  de 
light.  He  put  up  his  nose  and  sniffed,  and  his 
nose  was  exceedingly  small  and  exceedingly 
black. 

He  jumped  out  of  the  basket  and  shook  him 
self.  Perhaps  he  weighed  five  pounds,  but  his 
self-appreciation,  to  judge  by  his  manner,  could 
not  have  been  greater  if  he  had  weighed  two 
hundred  pounds. 

Now  that  he  stood  on  the  floor  it  was  per 
ceived  that  there  was  another  card  fastened  to 
the  scarlet  ribbon  round  his  neck. 

This  card  was  gently  removed  so  that  the  dig 
nity  of  the  wearer  might  not  be  hurt.  In  close 
handwriting  Rowena  read  aloud  : 

"  Pardon  the  whim  of  an  old  woman  who 
wishes  you  to  have  an  entertaining  companion 
who  will  never  bore  you,  and  who  wants  Marma- 
duke  to  have  a  faithful  friend. 

"  CAROLINE  APPLETON  SEARS." 

At  the  word  "  Marmaduke  "  the  terrier  pricked 
up  his  ears  and  wagged  his  tail  again.  Then  he 
began  a  minute  and  exhaustive  tour  of  the  room, 
smelling  over  and  over  at  every  object  within  his 
reach. 

"  It's  from  Mrs.  Sears,"  remarked  Rowena.    "  I 


174  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

thought  Miss  Phillipps  sent  it.  Oh,  isn't  he  a 
darling!  See  his  little  tail!  Oh,  you  precious 
thing,  you!  Marmaduke,  come  here  and  kiss 
me!" 

She  sat  down  on  the  floor.  Georgic  also  sat 
down  on  the  floor.  At  this  moment  Marma- 
duke's  explorations  had  taken  him  under  the  bed. 
They  heard  him  snuffing  there.  He  came  to  the 
edge  and  looked  when  he  heard  his  name  called. 
He  wagged.  His  eyes  shone.  He  paused  a  short 
time,  looking  from  one  to  the  other. 

"Do  come  and  kiss  me,  you  darling  little 
love  !"  pleaded  Rowena,  holding  out  her  hands. 

He  wagged  again.  Then  he  turned  and  went 
back.  His  two  admirers  continued  to  sit  there. 
When  he  again  appeared  there  was  a  fuzz  of  dust 
on  his  nose.  He  came  leisurely  forward  at  last, 
climbed  into  Rowena's  lap,  and  licked  her  lips, 
absolutely  refusing  to  bestow  a  touch  on  any 
other  part  of  her  face,  but  his  atom  of  a  red 
tongue  was  quite  persistent. 

He  sat  down  on  his  haunches  and  gazed  at 
Georgie,  not  replying  in  the  least  to  her  blandish 
ments,  but  retaining  a  very  amiable  aspect,  as 
much  as  to  say: 

"  I'm  very  fond  of  incense.  But  I  don't  re 
spond  if  I  don't  choose,  only  go  right  on  with 
the  incense ;  it  keeps  me  in  a  good-humor." 

Rowena  retained  her  position  for  a  long  time; 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  175 

every  muscle  in  her  body  soon  became  rigid,  but 
how  could  she  move  while  Marmaduke  chose  to 
sit  on  his  little  haunches  in  her  lap  and  look  so 
awful  cunning? 

Georgie  also  remained  on  the  floor.  Every 
time  the  dog  put  out  his  tongue,  and  every  time 
he  didn't  put  it  out,  the  two  girls  declared  they 
wanted  to  squeeze  him.  His  brilliant  dark  eyes 
surveyed  them  with  searching  discrimination. 
After  a  while  he  curled  himself  round  into  a  ball 
and  reposed  upon  Rowena's  lap. 

"Shall  you  keep  him?"  asked  Georgie,  after 
having  declared  that  he  "  was  a  great  deal  cun- 
ninger  asleep  than  he  was  awake."  She  ventured 
to  rise,  very  carefully,  lest  he  be  disturbed  ;  but 
Rowena  kept  her  position. 

"  Keep  him !"  cried  she;  "I  wouldn't  part  with 
him  for  anything.  Look  at  the  sweet  fluff  of 
hair  on  his  head!  —  do  you  think  I'd  part  with 
that  ?  And  I  do  believe  he's  almost  beginning 
to  love  me  already." 

Georgie  stood  looking  down  at  the  two. 

"You  know  Phil  Barrett  wanted  to  give  you  a 
setter  puppy." 

"Yes,  I  know  he  did,"  in  a  low  voice. 

"And  you  wouldn't  take  it." 

"No;  I  couldn't  have  a  dog  as  large  as  that 
here.  I  suppose  I  really  ought  not  to  keep  this 
one;  but  I  shall!" — with  emphasis. 


176  ROWENY   IN    BOSTON. 

Georgie  turned  away.  She  looked  into  her 
satchel.  She  brushed  her  hair  very  gently  at  the 
glass,  but  she  did  not  seem  to  be  thinking  of 
what  she  was  doing.  Even  the  sight  of  herself  in 
that  blue  cashmere  did  not  divert  her  thoughts. 

"  I  declare,0  she  suddenly  said,  facing  round 
upon  her  friend,  and  not  sufficiently  thoughtful 
of  Marmaduke's  slumbers  — "  I  do  declare  I'm 
real  sorry  for  Philup." 

Rowena  answered,  almost  crossly,  that  she 
didn't  know  why  anybody  should  be  sorry  for 
Philip  just  because  a  lovely  old  lady  had  given 
her  a  perfectly  bewitching  Yorkshire. 

Georgie  did  not  retreat.    She  never  did  retreat. 

"'Tain't  that,"  she  said,  in  her  solid  way. 
"  You're  all  taken  up  with  them  folks.  I  s'pose 
they  be  terrible  fine.  But  you  know  we  can't 
keep  'sociating  with  that  kind  of  folks.  They'll 
stop  it  when  they  git  ready ;  'n'  when  they  stop 
it  they  won't  be  hurt  any,  but  you  will." 

Rowena  did  not  reply:  her  heart  was  like  lead. 
She  knew  that  her  friend  had  common-sense  and 
probability  on  her  side.  The  knowledge  hurt 
her.  In  vain  she  told  herself  she  might  take  the 
good  the  gods  provided.  The  mere  thought  that 
Miss  Phillipps  might  become  indifferent  brought 
a  bitter  pang  with  it. 

"  Yes ;  they'll  stop  it,  as  you  say,"  she  said, 
tremulously.  "  I'm  expecting  it  all  the  time. 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  177 

And  I  do  love  Miss  Phillipps  so  !  There  isn't 
anybody  like  her." 

She  bent  over  the  dog  and  gathered  him  up 
in  her  arms. 

"  But  I  shall  have  you,  you  darling  sweet 
heart,  you  precious  precious !"  she  cried,  rather 
hysterically. 

Marmaduke,  thus  disturbed,  twinkled  his  eyes 
at  her  and  yawned,  showing  a  black-roofed  mouth 
and  extremely  white  teeth.  Then  he  extricated 
himself  from  her  embrace,  jumped  on  the  bed 
and  curled  up  in  the  centre  of  the  pillow,  not 
without  a  previous  examination,  which  left  it  to 
be  inferred  that  Mrs.  Jarvis's  pillows  were  not 
according  to  his  deserts,  and  not  what  he  had 
been  accustomed  to. 

Rowena  leaned  back  against  the  wall  and 
looked  up  at  her  friend  with  a  dreary  smile. 

"  If  my  friends  fail  me  and  my  art  fails  me," 
she  said,  "  perhaps  I  can  have  your  school  when 
you  leave  it  to  be  married.  You  know  I  must 
earn  my  living  some  way." 

"Why  don't  you  take  my  school?"  asked  the 
other,  quickly.  "  Your  folks  'd  be  jest  as  glad  as 
they  could  be." 

Rowena  sprang  up.  Enthusiasm  blazed  sud 
denly  in  her  eyes.  She  walked  to  the  easel  where 
was  the  picture  on  which  she  had  been  at  work 
that  day.  She  turned  it  about.  She  had  often 


178  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

tried  her  hand  at  heads,  but  never  seriously  at  a 
likeness  before. 

This  was  the  head  of  a  woman.  It  had  thick, 
reddish  hair  lying  profusely  on  the  forehead, 
green-tinted  eyes,  and  a  very  red  mouth,  with  a 
disdainful  curve  in  it.  The  straight  brows  lay 
across  a  white  forehead. 

Thus  far  this,  as  a  whole,  was  the  best  she  had 
done.  Rowena  was  sure  of  that.  She  wished 
Allestree  might  see  it.  He  would  not  look  so 
much  at  the  expression  as  at  the  drawing. 

Georgie  Warner  advanced  and  gazed  with  some 
awe  at  this  object  —  she  said  it  almost  spoke. 
Then  she  asked  : 

"It's  her,  ain't  it?" 

Rowena  smiled  at  the  picture. 

"Yes,  it  is  Miss  Phillipps,"  she  answered.  "  It's 
only  a  sketch,  you  know.  She  never  sat  to  me. 
I  wish  she  would.  I  wanted  to  do  this.  But  I 
really  love  best  to  paint  from  nature — fields  and 
hills  and  sky — meadows,  where  the  scent  of  white 
violets  comes  on  the  warm  wind — anything,  al 
most,  in  the  country.  I  can  learn — I  must  learn  ! 
It's  in  me !" 

She  took  a  brush,  but  she  put  it  down  again. 

Her  friend  could  not  understand.  She  herself 
liked  to  make  bedquilts  of  a  remarkable  pattern; 
that  was  something  that  was  not  only  pretty  but 
useful.  She  wondered  if  Rowena  were  not  a  little 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  179 

unbalanced.  If  she  only  ever  decided  to  marry 
Philip  Barrett,  things  would  be  all  right.  Any 
way,  she  loved  her  the  best  of  any  friend  she  had. 
Of  course  she  excepted  Jim  Townshend — Jim 
was  a  man.  It  was  the  way  to  love  a  man  best, 
but  Rowena  came  next. 

She  did  not  see  her  way  clear  to  any  reply  to 
Rowena's  words,  so  she  said,  with  a  good  deal  of 
emphasis : 

"  I  can't  bear  that  face  !  Does  she  really  look 
like  that  —  jest  as  if  you  was  dirt  for  her  to 
tread  on?" 

"She  does  have  that  expression  a  good  deal," 
was  the  answer,  the  speaker  still  smiling  at  the 
canvas. 

"  Then  I  sh'd  think  you'd  hate  her." 

"  Not  if  she  treads  on  other  folks  and  smiles  at 
me,"  was  the  reply,  rather  mockingly. 

"  But  I  sh'd  think  you'd  always  be  dreadin' 
when  your  turn  would  come,"  persisted  Georgie. 

"  Don't  let's  talk  like  this  any  more,"  cried 
Rowena.  She  immediately  put  an  artful  ques 
tion  about  Mr.  Townshend. 

At  the  appointed  time  the  next  day  the  two 
girls  walked  to  Atlantic  Avenue,  where  they 
found  Uncle  Reuben  just  putting  his  horse  into 
the  shafts  of  the  boat-wagon.  He  had  expend 
ed  his  last  supply  of  meal  tickets,  and  his  wife 
had  decided  that  he  need  not  lay  out  any  more 


l8o  ROWENY   IN    BOSTON. 

money  that  way,  but  might  "  take  his  victuals 
with  him,"  which  he  did.  Owing  to  this  arrange 
ment  Rowena  was  not  sure  of  seeing  him  every 
time  he  came  in.  He  usually  brought  cooked 
food  from  Mrs.  Tuttle  for  her  daughter,  but  she 
often  had  to  go  down  to  Atlantic  Avenue  for  it. 
As  Marthy  S.  had  hinted,  Mr.  Little  had  a  weak 
ness  for  "liquor,"  and  there  were  seasons  when  in 
many  ways,  as  his  neighbors  said,  "you  couldn't 
depend  on  him  more'n  you  could  on  the  wind." 
Still,  he  was  never  so  drunk  that  he  could  not 
manage  his  horse,  and  come  in  and  go  out  of 
Boston  safely.  Or  perhaps  his  horse  was  now 
so  wise  in  this  business  that  he  needed  no  man 
agement. 

When  Rowena  and  Georgie  found  him  now, 
his  face  was  so  red  and  he  was  so  conversation 
al  that  they  knew  directly  that  he  had  "  had  too 
much." 

He  even  acknowledged  that  he  had  had  too 
much.  But  he  explained  at  great  length  that 
the  reason  was  because  "  he'd  ben  havin'  a  spell 
of  his  cussed  nooralgy."  He  was  obliged  to  take 
something  for  that.  "  He  guessed  he  should  ride 
it  off  long  'fore  he  got  home."  He  did  not  say 
whether  "  it  "  referred  to  the  neuralgia  or  the  ef 
fect  of  the  liquor. 

Rowena  tried  to  persuade  her  friend  to  go 
home  by  train.  She  was  afraid  her  Uncle  Reu- 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  l8l 

ben  would  think  his  "nooralgy"  needed  even 
more  medicament.  But  Georgie  said  she  wasn't 
afraid.  "  If  it  come  to  that  she  could  take  the 
reins  'n'  drive  jest 's  well  as  Mr.  Little.  Her  folks 
'd  be  expectin'  her.  She  had  told  Jim  she  should 
surely  come." 

At  mention  of  Jim,  Rowena  refrained  from 
any  more  urging.  The  two  friends  embraced 
under  Uncle  Reuben's  eyes.  He  said  he  was 
glad  to  see  there  was  affection  somewhere  in  the 
world,  but  there  wa'n't  much  where  he  lived. 

Three  young  men  in  the  boat-office  were  much 
interested  in  the  parting.     They  bet  ten  to  one 
that  the  two  would  turn  back  for  a  second  hug,  < 
and  the  two  did  so. 

Marmaduke  was  under  one  arm  and  beneath 
Rowena's  shawl,  save  for  his  head.  His  presence 
made  the  embracing  more  difficult  than  it  would 
otherwise  have  been. 

When  at  last  Georgie  was  mounted  on  the 
seat  beside  Mr.  Little  and  the  wheels  of  the  cart 
began  slowly  to  revolve,  the  terrier  bristled  his 
beard  and  mustache  and  barked  furiously. 

Rowena  watched  the  cart  out  of  sight.  When 
the  weather  was  a  little  milder  she  would  go  home 
for  a  week.  Georgie  carried  with  her  a  volumi 
nous  epistle  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tuttle.  This  letter 
was  full  of  genuine  love  and  longing  to  see  them. 

Mrs.  Tuttle  read  it  for  the  third  time  after  she 


1 82  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

had  put  her  dried-apple  pies  into  the  oven  to 
bake.  The  back  door  was  open,  and  the  frogs 
were  very  loud  in  the  meadow  there.  Blue- 
wings  were  cleaving  the  air,  and  the  owners  of 
these  wings  were  saying  blithely,  over  and  over, 
"  Dearie  !  Dearie  !" 

"  I'm  glad  she's  gittin'  kind  of  weaned  from 
home,"  said  Mrs.  Tuttle,  with  a  sigh ;  "  she  won't 
suffer  so  much.  But  it  makes  me  sorry,  too.  But 
that's  nature,  I  expect.  The  young  ones  go.  Oh, 
I  do  hope  there  won't  nothin'  happen  to  Ro- 
weny !  I  don't  know  what  her  father  would  do." 

Mrs.  Tuttle  put  the  letter  in  the  pocket  of  her 
calico  skirt.  She  looked  in  at  her  pies.  Then 
she  went  to  the  open  door  and  stood  there  a 
long  time,  not  seeing  anything,  conscious  only  of 
a  dull  sense  of  loss  and  dejection. 

This  was  the  first  letter  her  daughter  had  writ 
ten  home  in  which  there  was  something  that 
showed  that  new  interests  were  really  crowding 
upon  the  old.  The  mother  could  not  put  her 
finger  upon  that  something,  however.  It  was 
not  in  words,  but  it  was  there. 

Mrs.  Tuttle  furtively  passed  a  corner  of  her 
apron  across  her  eyes.  "  Yes,"  she  said  again, 
"  I'm  real  glad  she's  gittin'  weaned  from  us  jest 
'nough  so't  she  won't  be  homesick.  Of  course 
that  Miss  Phillipps  is  good  to  her.  I  sh'd  think 
everybody  'd  be  good  to  Roweny.  I  guess  I'll 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  183 

make  a  jelly  cake  to  send  next  time  Reuben 
goes." 

She  was  about  turning  away  from  the  door 
when  a  rattling  of  wheels  was  heard,  and  a  pair 
of  horses  hitched  to  a  farm  cart  came  into  the 
yard.  Standing  up  in  the  cart,  driving,  was 
Philip  Barrett.  A  glossy  red  setter  ran  nosing 
about,  then  came  forward  tumultuously  to  greet 
Mrs.  Tuttle.  She  put  her  hard,  thin  hand  on  his 
head  while  she  watched  his  master  descend  from 
the  cart. 

"  Come  right  in,  Philip,"  she  said,  cordially ; 
"  I've  got  a  cup  of  coffee  that  ain't  cold  yet. 
I've  ben  expectin'  you'd  call  ever  sence  you  went 
to  Boston." 

The  young  man  walked  in  slowly,  as  he  did 
everything.  He  had  just  come  from  the  Corners, 
where  he  had  mailed  a  letter  to  Rowena.  He 
had  been  at  work  all  his  spare  time  on  this  docu 
ment  since  his  return. 

Rowena's  letter,  the  first  and  only  one  she 
had  yet  written  him,  and  which  breathed  such 
a  warm  friendliness,  he  carried  about  with  him. 
It  had  been  so  worn  that  he  had  now  protected 
it  by  enclosing  it  in  two  stout  envelopes.  When 
he  was  out  of  doors,  busy  on  his  farm,  he  liked 
to  put  his  hand  to  his  pocket  where  the  letter 
was.  He  talked  to  his  dogs  about  the  girl ;  he 
confided  to  them  his  hopes  and  his  misgivings. 


184  ROWENY   IN    BOSTON. 

Now,  as  he  sat  down  in  the  "  roundabout " 
chair  commonly  occupied  by  Mr.  Tuttle,  he  re 
marked  that  the  "spring  was  ruther  forrard  of 
the  two." 

"So  'tis,"  responded  Mrs.  Tuttle.  "  Hiram  got 
in  his  early  pease  some  time  ago." 

After  this  there  was  a  long  silence.  The  wom 
an  looked  wistfully  at  her  guest  while  he  drank 
the  coffee  she  had  given  him.  Then  he  gazed  at 
the  cook-stove,  from  the  oven  of  which  Mrs.  Tut 
tle  now  withdrew  the  two  dried-apple  pies. 

"  I  s'pose  you  seen  her,  of  course,"  at  last  said 
Mrs. Tuttle;  "'cause  she  writes  she  seen  you,  and 
how  kind  you  was.  I  hope  you  had  a  good  time." 

"Yes,  I  had  a  real  good  time."  Philip  paused 
lengthily  before  he  added :  "  She  needn't  go  to 
sayin'  I  was  kind.  Kind  to  her!" 

Something  almost  like  a  flash  came  to  his 
steady  blue  eyes. 

"Yes;  she  was  jest  as  nice  's  she  could  be. 
When  she  first  seen  me  on  the  Common  I  al 
most  made  up  my  mind  she  was  about  half  's 
glad  's  I  was.  Half  's  glad  would  have  ben 
enough — I  wouldn't  arst  for  no  more." 

"Wa'n't  she  glad  afterwards?"  anxiously. 

"  She  was  jest  's  nice  's  could  be,"  reiterated 
Philip ;  "  but  I  thought  she  was  some  absent- 
minded.  You  see,  Mis'  Tuttle,  she's  got  some 
other  friends.  There  was  a  feller  in  a  chain  'n' 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  185 

necktie,  with  a  long  coat  on,  real  dressy,  and 
with  a  lot  to  say  for  himself.  He  had  an  aunt 
that  wore  a  fur  cloak.  They  come  to  see  Rovve- 
ny.  They  wanted  to  take  her  to  the  theatre.  I 
only  seen  him  a  minute;  but  I  seen  the  way  he 
looked  at  her." 

At  this  intolerable  memory  Philip  rose  sud 
denly  from  his  chair  and  walked  to  the  win 
dow. 

"We  can't  be  surprised  that  folks  like  Rowe- 
ny,"  said  Mrs.  Tuttle,  with  a  mother's  pride. 

"  No  ;  I  ain't  surprised,"  from  the  window. 

After  a  little  hesitation,  Mrs.  Tuttle  walked  to 
Philip  and  put  her  hand  on  his  shoulder.  This 
was  an  action  that,  in  an  undemonstrative  New 
England  woman,  meant  a  great  deal. 

"I  wish  she'd  never  gone  to  Borston!"  cried 
Philip,  almost  violently,  turning  round  and  facing 
his  companion. 

"  I  s'pose  I  hadn't  ought  to  come  to  you  like 
this ;  but  I've  ben  thinkin'  it  all  over  every  min 
ute  sence  I  got  home,  'n'  I  couldn't  seem  to  help 
comin' ;  'n'  I  made  up  my  mind  that  I  wish  she 
never  'd  gone  to  Borston." 

"  It  ain't  no  use  talkin'  like  that,"  returned 
Mrs.  Tuttle,  sorrowfully.  "  She  was  crazy  to  go. 
It  wa'n't  no  notion  that  would  pass  off,  either. 
She  was  sut  on  it,  'n'  has  been  sence  she  was  half 
grown  up.  She's  gone  without  clo'es  'n'  saved 


1 86  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

every  cent.  Oh,  it  would  er  killed  her  not  to 
gone  to  Borston  to  learn  how  to  paint." 

Philip  took  a  strong  grip  on  the  top  of  a  chair 
near  him.  He  was  very  pale,  and  his  eyes  were 
hollow.  He  looked  at  his  companion  pite- 
ously. 

"  If  I  didn't  love  her  jes'  's  I  do,  if  I  hadn't 
loved  her  all  my  life,  I  sh'd  try  to  git  over  it ; 
but  I  can't  even  try.  I  might's  well  think  I  could 
stop  bein''  Philip  Barrett,  as  that  I  could  stop 
lovin'  Roweny." 

There  wrere  tears  in  the  woman's  eyes  as  she 
heard  him.  If  there  was  one  longing  strong  with 
in  her,  it  was  that  her  daughter  might  consent  to 
marry  this  man.  But  she  had  always  been  wise 
enough  to  say  nothing  on  the  subject  to  any 
one. 

"  I'd  ruther  she'd  marry  you  than  any  other 
bein'  on  the  footstool,  Philip,"  she  said,  earnest 
ly;  "but  what  c'n  I  do?" 

"You  can't  do  nothin,"  returned  the  other, 
bracing  up  visibly.  "  Things  have  got  to  jest 
take  their  course.  But  I  won't  give  up — I  can't 
give  up.  I've  been  a  good  deal  down  lately.  I 
hope  you'll  overlook  my  talkin'  so,  Mis'  Tuttle. 
'Tain't  my  way  to,  you  know;  but  I've  been  so 
down." 

"  I  ain't  nothin'  to  overlook,"  she  said,  warm 
ly.  "  I  know  how  close-mouthed  you  gen'ly  be. 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  187 

But  who  should  you  speak  to,  if  not  to  Roweny's 
mother,  I'd  like  to  know?" 

Philip  went  out  to  his  cart.  His  dog  sprang  to 
greet  him.  He  drove  away  somewhat  cheered. 
The  very  fact  that  he  had  spoken  to  Rowena's 
mother  cheered  him. 


1 88  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 


XIII. 

A   LITTLE   TALK. 

"  IF  there  were  such  a  state  of  body  and  mind 
as  being  tired,  I  should  say  you  were  in  that 
state." 

Miss  Phillipps  had  just  taken  her  seat  in  Mrs. 
Jarvis's  top-story  room,  on  the  afternoon  of  the 
day  on  which  Georgie  Warner  had  started  home 
with  Mr.  Little. 

Rowena  was  mending  her  stockings.  Marma- 
duke  was  in  the  centre  of  the  pillow  on  the  bed. 
He  had  been  down  to  investigate  the  ankles  and 
skirts  of  the  new-comer,  and  had  returned  to  his 
pillow.  The  lady  had  noticed  him,  but  as  yet 
had  not  spoken  of  him. 

Rowena  looked  pale  and  fagged.  She  had 
really  exerted  herself  to  entertain  Georgie,  and 
she  had  never  known  before  that  a  good  deal  of 
information  in  regard  to  patterns  of  bedquilts 
and  about  Jim  Townshend  might  at  last  become 
wearing. 

She  let  her  stockings  drop  unheeded  to  the 
floor. 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  189 

"  I  am  so  tired  !"  she  said. 

"You  mustn't  say  that,"  returned  her  friend, 
"  because  there  is  no  such  thing  as  being  tired. 
Looking  at  everything  from  the  inmost  —  and 
that  is  the  only  way  to  look  at  things — you  can't 
by  any  possibility  be  tired." 

Rowena  stared  helplessly.  She  said  nothing 
in  response. 

Miss  Phillipps  leaned  back  in  her  usual  posi 
tion  in  the  little  rocker.  She  seemed  kind,  but 
rather  absent  and  absorbed. 

She  wore  several  rings  to-day.  She  turned 
them  on  her  fingers. 

"  Have  you  formed  the  habit  of  looking  at  all 
things  from  the  inmost?"  she  asked. 

"  No,"  said  Rowena,  still  more  helplessly,  "  I 
haven't." 

"You  must,  then.  Begin  with  me  from  this 
very  hour  to  form  that  habit." 

Rowena  said  she  would  try.  Then  she  ex 
claimed,  boldly,  that  she  didn't  know  how  to  try. 

"  It  is  in  the  inmost  where  God  dwells  in  us. 
View  everything  from  that  stand-point.  Then, 
you  see,  we  shall  be  charitable  in  our  judgment. 
It  is  a  great  thing  to  be  charitable." 

"  Yes,"  said  Rowena.  She  could  comprehend 
that  last  remark,  and  was  cheered  that  she  could. 

"  There  is,  in  very  truth,  no  death  ;  and  we  are 
law.  God  is  law,  love,  wisdom,  force.  It  is  dis- 


1 90  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

orderly  to  pray,  and,  above  all  things,  we  must 
not  be  disorderly.  You  dear  little  thing!"  with 
a  sudden  warm  look  at  the  girl,  "  do  you  know 
what  I'm  talking  about?" 

"  Not  in  the  least." 

"  I  thought  you  didn't.  But  you  must  learn," 
more  seriously ;  "  it  is  the  principal  thing  in  life. 
You  see,  what  with  my  Browning  and  Psychic 
Research  and  Sloyd  and  painting,  and  one  or 
two  other  things  that  I  can't  call  to  mind  just 
now,  I've  let  my  mind-cure  and  my  Christian  Sci 
ence  fall  into  the  background.  I  went  to  one  of 
their  lectures  this  morning.  I  really  must  keep 
up  with  that,  if  I  let  other  things  go.  I've  been 
trying  to  think  what  I  can  best  drop.  But  what 
has  tired  you  so?"  changing  her  manner  again. 
"  That  is,  if  you  are  still  in  the  old  thought,  and 
think  you  are  tired." 

But  Rowena  was  not  going  to  admit  that  the 
visit  of  her  friend  from  the  country  had  wearied 
her. 

"  One  isn't  vigorous  in  the  spring,"  she  an 
swered,  evasively.  "I  think  I  must  need  some 
of  mother's  bitters,  made  of  dandelion  root,  and 
such  wholesome  things." 

Saying  this,  she  remembered  that  Georgie  had 
brought  her  a  bottle  of  this  approved  medicine. 
She  would  begin  to  take  it  the  next  morning. 

"  One  is  vigorous — always  vigorous.    It  is  only 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  19 1 

that  one  much  choose  to  be  so,"  said  Miss  Phil- 
lipps,  strongly. 

"  I  surely  should  choose  to  be  so." 

Miss  Phillipps  did  not  heed  the  girl's  words. 
She  rose  and  walked  to  the  bed,  where  she  look 
ed  at  Marmaduke,who  in  turn  looked  at  her  with 
great  interest,  but  did  not  think  it  necessary  to 
rise  from  his  recumbent  position. 

"  Where  in  the  world  did  you  get  such  a  dar 
ling  as  this  ?"  she  inquired.  "  Don't  you  see  he's 
a  thoroughbred — and  a  regular  angel  of  a  York 
shire?" 

Rovvena  came  to  the  bed. 

"  I  guess  I  know  he's  an  angel  of  a  Yorkshire," 
she  replied,  fervently.  "  I  was  going  to  ask  you 
how  I  might  have  a  chance  to  thank  Mrs.  Sears. 
I  don't  even  know  where  she  lives." 

"  Did  Mrs.  Sears  send  you  this  dog?" 

"  Yes ;  and  I  want  to  thank  her.  Mr.  Bradford 
brought  him  yesterday  when  I  was  out  with 
Georgie." 

"  Mr.  Bradford  brought  him  ?" 

"  Yes.     It  was  very  kind  of  him." 

"  Very." 

Miss  Phillipps  now  stooped  down  and  picked  up 
Marmaduke,  who,  though  thus  disturbed,  retain 
ed  his  amiability  and  licked  the  lady's  lips,  declin 
ing,  as  he  always  did,  to  caress  any  other  portion 
of  the  human  countenance. 


IQ2  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

She  looked  over  him  at  Rowena. 

"And  you  wouldn't  take  my  seal-skin  jacket!" 
she  said. 

Rowena  colored  deeply. 

"A  dog  seems  different,  don't  you  think?" 

"  Yes,  a  great  deal  better.  I  wish  I  had  given 
you  this  one.  He  will  be  a  comfort  to  you.  He 
ought  to  be  very  happy  in  being  a  comfort  to 
you,  Miss  Tuttle." 

These  words  were  accompanied  by  a  soft  glance, 
which  the  girl  felt  go  straight  to  her  heart. 

Marmaduke  now  leaped  back  onto  the  bed. 

"  You  will  probably  see  Mrs.  Sears  at  my  house 
soon.  You  can  thank  her  then.  She  lives  at  No. 
—  Beacon  Street.  But  I  am  frittering  away  my 
time  and  yours,"  in  a  more  business-like  tone. 
"  You  see,  I  came  this  afternoon  particularly  to 
tell  you  that  you  must  not  live  in  the  old  thought 
any  more.  You  must  take  up  the  science." 

"  With  you  ?" 

"  Certainly,  with  me." 

"  Oh  yes,  Miss  Phillipps,  I  think  I  would  take 
up  anything  with  you." 

This  remark  was  received  with  a  warm,  approv 
ing  smile. 

"  That  is  because  you  are  ignorant.  If  you 
knew  me  better  you  would  not  be  so  charming 
in  your  confidence.  Supposing  we  go  into  the- 
osophy  a  little  at  the  same  time?" 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  193 

"  Is  theosophy  very  hard  ?"  hesitatingly  in 
quired  Rowena. 

"Well,  it  is  not  'real  easy,'  like  Browning,  for 
instance." 

"  Don't  laugh  at  me,  Miss  Phillipps." 

But  the  lady  did  laugh,  and  Rowena  could  not 
help  joining  her,  until  the  small,  dingy  room  was 
full  of  the  sound,  and  Marmaduke  sat  up  on  his 
haunches  and  asked  what  it  was  all  about. 

"  I  don't  think  I  shall  have  time  for  theoso 
phy,"  at  last  Rowena  said.  "  You  know  I'm  in 
earnest  about  my  painting.  I  must  succeed  in 
some  degree  in  that." 

She  spoke  with  an  almost  solemn  emphasis, 
and  her  visitor  respected  the  feeling. 

"  I  won't  tempt  you.  But  I  shall  hold  you  to 
the  Christian  Science.  What  have  you  on  the 
easel  there?  Let  me  see  some  of  your  work. 
Your  lessons  should  have  some  effect  by  this 
time." 

Miss  Phillipps  spoke  with  the  abruptness  and 
positiveness  which  she  sometimes  used. 

She  walked  quickly  to  the  easel  and  turned  it 
about. 

It  was  the  sketch  of  her  own  head  which  she  saw. 

Rowena  watched  her  face  with  tremulous  anx 
iety.     Her  pulses  seemed  all  crowding  into  her 
throat.    She  had  unbounded  confidence  in  this 
woman's  judgment  of  her  work. 
13 


IQ4  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

She  thought  a  faint  color  came  into  the  pale 
face  which  was  in  profile  as  she  watched  it. 

"  I  was  too  bold,  I  know,"  murmured  Rowena, 
deprecatingly. 

"You  'hitched  your  wagon  to  a  star,' "  was 
the  sarcastic  response. 

It  was  another  long  moment  before  Miss  Phil- 
lipps  turned  to  her  companion.  When  she  did 
speak  she  used  Allestree's  very  words. 

"You  have  the  touch,"  she  said.  She  looked 
at  the  picture  again.  "  Crude  as  it  is,  it  is  abso 
lutely  alive." 

Rowena's  eyes  shone.  She  felt  as  if  she  had 
been  drinking  wine. 

Now  her  friend  turned  her  back  on  the  canvas 
and  moved  nearer  the  girl. 

"  Have  I  really  such  a  cruel  expression  as  that  ?'' 

"Sometimes;  not  now." 

"  Little  truth-teller  !     But  you  hurt." 

She  went  back  to  the  sketch  as  if  drawn  to  it 
by  invisible  cords. 

"  Senour  painted  my  portrait  two  years  ago. 
I'll  show  it  to  you  when  you  come  to  my  house 
again.  He  hasn't  put  a  bit  of  that  look  in;  and 
I  never  saw  it  in  my  mirror.  Is  it  really  so 
marked?" 

The  tone  in  which  this  question  was  put  was 
almost  wistful.  It  was  hard  to  reply,  as  Rowena 
did  reply: 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  195 

"Yes,  it  is;  but  not  always." 

"  Oh,  I  should  hope  not  always.  If  I  had  no 
different  face  for  a  friend  I  would  shoot  myself 
forthwith.  And  I've  been  quite  set  up  in  my 
mind  when  I  have  looked  at  Senour's  portrait. 
The  only  assurance  this  thing  gives  me  is  that 
I  have  an  aristocratic  countenance  '  to  face  the 
world  with.'  I  should  judge  that  human  beings 
in  general  were  but  dirt  beneath  my  feet." 

"  That  is  just  what —  '  began  Rowena,  and 
then  paused  in  confusion. 

Her  friend  instantly  caught  her  up. 

"  Just  what  some  one  said  of  it,  you  were  going 
to  say?"  She  spoke  sharply.  "  Keats — Mr.  Brad 
ford  has  not  seen  it?" 

"Oh  no!" 

"  Who  then  ?" 

"  Only  my  friend,  Georgie  Warner,  who  went 
away  this  morning." 

"Your  friend,  Georgie  Warner,  knew  what  she 
was  talking  about.  I  forgive  her.  I  shall  for 
give  you.  But  I  shall  not  forgive  myself  for  fur 
nishing  the  material  for  that  look. 

"  We  have  talked  more  than  enough  about  it. 
Now  I  am  going  home.  I  walked  down  here.  If 
you  did  not  look  so — so  '  weeny,'  I  used  to  say 
to  my  dolls  when  they  were  ill,  I  should  ask  you 
to  come  out  for  a  stroll." 

The  speaker  put  on  her  hat  and  mantle,  which 


196  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

she  always  removed  if  only  for  a  few  moments' 
stay.  She  walked  to  the  door.  Then  she  came 
back  and  put  her  hands  on  Rowena's  shoulders. 

"  I  shall  treat  you,"  she  said,  after  an  intent 
look. 

"  Treat  me  ?"  repeated  the  girl. 

Miss  Phillipps  gave  her  a  little  shake. 

"Yes.  You  must  not  say  my  words  over  after 
me.  I  shall  treat  you.  I  shall  say — inwardly, 
you  know — '  Rowena' — have  you  any  other  Chris 
tian  name? — no — then  I  shall  say  '  Rowena  Tut- 
tle,  you  are  not  weary,  for  there  is  no  such  thing. 
You  are  fresh  and  strong.'  When  I  have  said 
this  a  few  times,  with  emphasis,  and  put  myself 
in  the  new  thought,  and  in  the  God-current,  you 
will  be  surprised  at  the  delightful  sense  of  well- 
being  that  will  come  to  you." 

"You  will  stay  with  me  to  do  this?"  hesitat 
ingly  inquired  Rowena. 

"  Oh  no.  Thought  knows  no  space.  I  could 
treat  you  a  thousand  miles  away  just  as  well  as 
here." 

Miss  Phillipps  looked  and  seemed  quite  seri 
ous.  Rowena  felt  a  trifle  uncomfortable. 

"  Can  any  one  treat  me,  any  one  who  chooses," 
she  asked,  anxiously — and  I  cannot  help  myself  ?" 

Now  Miss  Phillipps  laughed. 

"Why  do  you  talk  in  that  way?"  she  said. 

"  Because  I  should  have  a  choice,  decidedly," 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  197 

she  answered,  firmly.  "  I  won't  have  any  one — • 
not  any  one — treat  me  but  you." 

There  was  intense  seriousness  and  almost  alarm 
in  Rowena's  face  and  voice. 

Miss  Phillipps  suddenly  put  her  arms  about 
the  girl  and  kissed  her.  Instead  of  being  amused, 
she  seemed  touched. 

A  moment  later  Rowena  was  standing  at  the 
hall  door  watching  the  lady  as  she  walked  along 
the  sordid,  dingy  street.  How  out  of  place  her 
face  and  figure  looked  in  it !  There  was  still 
sunlight  in  the  open  spaces  and  in  the  country, 
but  here  it  was  almost  twilight.  As  the  girl 
looked,  there  came  almost  a  terror  in  her  heart 
that  she  should  care  so  much  for  this  woman. 

She  saw  one  of  the  salesladies  from  R.  H. 
Black's  coming  for  her  supper.  The  two  met 
and  the  saleslady  turned  to  look  back.  She 
tossed  her  head  as  she  came  up  the  steps.  She 
gave  Rowena  a  disagreeable  glance. 

"  I  guess  that  is  that  Miss  Phillipps  that  Mrs. 
Jarvis  tells  about,  isn't  it?"  she  asked. 

"Yes." 

"  Has  she  been  here  to  see  you  ?  She  looks 
odd  enough  on  this  street,  walkin'  as  if  nothin' 
was  quite  good  'nough  for  her  to  step  on.  She'd 
better  stay  where  she  belongs  !" 

The  saleslady  went  down  into  the  basement. 

A  young  man  in  a  light  suit,  with  gloves  and  a 


198  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

cane,  now  appeared,  walking  rapidly.  He  raised 
his  hat  eagerly  and  with  a  flourish  as  he  saw  the 
figure  at  the  door.  He  hastened,  but  Rowena 
had  disappeared  when  Ferdinand  Foster  had 
reached  the  steps. 

Miss  Phillipps  had  turned  onto  Essex  Street. 
She  was  thinking  very  intently,  and  not  expect 
ing  to  meet  any  one  she  knew,  when  she  was 
aware  of  a  tall,  masculine  form  approaching.  It 
was  very  familiar. 

"Why,  Keats!  How  came  you  here?"  she 
asked,  as  her  cousin  gravely  lifted  his  hat. 

"How  came  you  here?"  he  responded.  He 
turned  and  walked  with  her. 

"  I  came  here  in  the  interest  of  Christian  Sci 
ence,"  she  answered.  "  Can  you  give  as  reason 
able  an  explanation  ?" 

He  fancied  she  was  looking  at  him  sharply,  and 
he  was  annoyed. 

"  I'm  not  sure  I  shall  explain  at  all,"  was  the 
cool  response.  "  I  weally  suppose  a  man  may 
stroll  on  Essex  Street  and  not  be  guilty  of  en 
gagement  in  any  very  sewious  intwigue." 

"  Oh,  if  you  are  going  to  take  that  tone,"  and 
Miss  Phillipps  walked  faster.  He  kept  beside 
her.  He  swung  his  stick;  he  adjusted  his 
glass  to  his  eye.  At  last  he  laughed.  But 
she  was  very  serious.  She  did  not  glance  at 
him. 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  199 

"  You  have  been  to  see  your  latest  and  strong 
est  fad,"  he  remarked. 

"  I  am  so  tired  of  that  word !"  she  said. 

"What  word?     I  used  several." 

"  Fad." 

He  laughed  again.     She  frowned  distinctly. 

The  two  turned  into  Washington  Street.  He 
kept  beside  her,  and  said  cheerfully  that  he  knew 
she  did  not  want  him,  but  that  he  was  bound  to 
walk  home  with  her;  he  had  something  particu 
lar  to  say.  She  might  better  become  resigned  at 
once.  WThereupon  she  assumed  a  pleasant  aspect 
immediately,  but  walked  even  faster  than  before. 

Neither  spoke  until  they  struck  across  the 
Common.  They  did  not  appear  to  wish  to  go 
directly  to  Charles  Street.  Now,  with  the  roar 
of  the  city  somewhat  removed,  Miss  Phillipps 
turned  to  her  companion. 

"Well?"  she  said. 

But  Mr.  Bradford  did  not  seem  quite  ready  to 
speak.  He  gazed  about  him  vacantly. 

"You  had  an  air  as  if  you  were  going  to  ar 
raign  me  before  the  bar  of  justice,"  she  contin 
ued,  after  a  moment. 

"I  am." 

"  Go  right  on.  Don't  mind  hurting  my  feel 
ings." 

The  man  turned  to  her  with  sudden  sternness. 
"  I  object  to  your  latest  fad,"  he  said. 


200  ROWENV    IN    BOSTON. 

Miss  Phillipps  paused  in  her  walk. 

"  So  you  will  use  that  word,"  she  responded, 
and  then  continued,  frivolously:  "Let  me  think 
— do  you  mean  Sloyd,  or  hypnotism,  or  Ibsen  ? 
I'm  interested  in  all,  but  I  can't  tell  you  positive 
ly  which  is  the  latest." 

She  looked  quite  scornful  and  disagreeable. 
All  the  unpleasant  possibilities  in  her  face  be 
came  accentuated. 

But  Mr.  Bradford  was  not  intimidated.  He 
rather  assumed  a  more  masterful  manner. 

"  I  mean  Miss  Tuttle,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  you  don't  call  her  a  fad  ?  You  must 
have  very  few  words  from  which  to  choose  in 
your  vocabulary,  Keats,  Avhen  you  arc  reduced 
to  calling  Miss  Tuttle  a  fad." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  her — I  mean,  I  shall  be  sorry 
for  her." 

"You  shall  be  sorry  for  her?"  Miss  Phillipps 
glanced  up  at  him  and  smiled  very  exasperating- 
ly.  "  Do  you  know  precisely  at  what  period  this 
sorrow  is  to  begin  ?" 

"That  depends  upon  you." 

"  Really,  you  are  crediting  me  with  a  great 
deal  of  power." 

"  I  want  to  pwotect  her.  She  is  going  to  need 
pwotection." 

"  Hardly — if  you  are  her  champion." 

"Vanessa,  be  sewious,  be  humane." 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  2OI 

Miss  Phillipps  looked  about  her. 

"  He  asks  me  to  be  humane,"  she  said  to  the 
surrounding  air. 

"  I  am  in  earnest.  You  are  the  crudest 
woman  I  ever  knew,  Vanessa,  sometimes.  I 
even  think  you  capable  of  being  unkind  to 
that  girl ;  and  if  you  ever  do  make  her  suffer 
you  will  be  a  howwible  bwute.  I  shall  hate 
you." 

Miss  Phillipps  suddenly  turned  aside  and  said, 
sweetly, 

"  Let  us  sit  down  here  a  moment." 

The  two  sat  down  on  one  of  the  iron  benches. 
The  woman's  face  was  much  changed  and  soft 
ened.  Her  lips  were  slightly  tremulous  as  she 
said: 

"How  could  you  think  I  would  hurt  her?" 
with  a  stress  upon  the  last  word. 

"  Oh,  you  won't  hurt  her  until  you  are  weary 
of  her.  I  have  known  you  since  I've  known  any 
body,  Vanessa." 

"  But  she  appeals  to  something  strange,  unused 
in  me,  Keats.  You  don't  believe  it.  But  it  is 
true.  When  I  am  with  her  it  is  almost  as  if  I 
also  were  unhackneyed,  unsullied  by  the  world. 
You  can't  be  near  her  and  not  breathe  pure  air. 
She  is  a  tonic.  She  is  something  better.  When 
I  look  in  her  eyes  I  feel  once  more  as  if  I  might 
keep  true  to  the  dreams  of  my  youth." 


2O2  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

The  speaker's  voice  ceased  almost  inarticu 
lately. 

The  man  did  not  reply.  He  had  averted  his 
face,  and  appeared  to  be  gazing  out  towards  the 
pond. 

"  I  want  to  protect  her,  too,"  went  on  Miss 
Phillipps,  hurriedly.  "  She  will  suffer  so  much, 
I  am  afraid.  I  want  to  take  care  of  her.  Keats," 
turning  upon  him  with  a  most  unexpected  sav- 
ageness, "  are  you  going  to  make  love  to  her?" 

"Why  shouldn't  I  do  what  you  are  doing?" 

"  For  the  best  of  reasons — because  you  are  a 
man." 

"  You  have  given  just  the  weason  why  I  should 
do  it;  it  is  a  man's  glowious  pwivilege  to  make 
love  to  a  woman.  Vanessa,  you  are  usurping  mas 
culine  rights." 

For  some  inscrutable  reason  Mr.  Bradford  drop 
ped  his  earnest  manner  with  the  utmost  abrupt 
ness.  He  rose  and  stood  before  his  cousin,  look 
ing  down  at  her  whimsically. 

"  Miss  Tuttle  comes  very  near  adoring  you,Va- 
nessa,  and  I  know  you  like  to  be  adored.  Shall 
we  walk  on  ?" 

"  I  wish  you  would  let  me  go  home  alone,  now, 
Keats,"  responded  the  other.  "  I  want  to  think, 
and  you  confuse  me." 

Mr.  Bradford  went  away  in  silence. 

"  I  was  foolish  enough,"  he  said  to  himself. 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON".  203 

"  Rowena  Tuttle  must  take  her  expewience  in 
life  as  we  all  must,  and  when  Vanessa  is  weally 
in  earnest  why — she  is  in  earnest." 

The  young  man  strolled  along  aimlessly  until 
he  found  himself  opposite  Mrs.  Sears's  house. 

He  rang.  He  was  allowed  to  go  into  a  small 
apartment  on  the  ground  floor,  which  Mrs.  Sears 
was  in  the  habit  of  calling  her  "  withdrawing 
room,"  because  she  said  she  withdrew  there  from 
bores. 

She  was  knitting  and  reading.  She  was  of 
the  opinion  that  women  over  sixty  ought  to  knit 
stockings  occasionally.  One  could  always  give 
them  to  the  poor. 

"  I  hope  you  know  it  is  a  great  favor  to  be  per 
mitted  to  enter  here,"  she  said,  as  Bradford  came 
forward. 

A  small  dog,  almost  exactly  like  Marmaduke, 
slowly  lifted  himself  from  the  skirt  of  her  dress 
where  he  had  been  reposing,  shook  back  the  hair 
from  his  eyes,  and  then  sprang  forward.  Brad 
ford  picked  him  up  and  put  him  comfortably  on 
his  knee  at  he  took  the  chair  his  hostess  moved 
towards  him. 

This  young  man  was  fully  aware  that  he  had 
called  now  upon  this  old  lady  because  she  had 
said  some  very  nice  things  of  Miss  Tuttle,  and 
because  she  had  sent  Miss  Tuttle  a  terrier. 


204  ROWENY   IN    BOSTON. 


XIV. 
MR.  FOSTER'S  SISTER. 

"  I  NEVER  did  see  such  a  flirt  in  all  my  life,  I 
declare !" 

Rowena  was  slowly  descending  the  stairs  from 
her  room.  It  was  not  yet  eight  o'clock,  but  she 
considered  it  extremely  late.  She  had  a  small 
tin  pail  in  her  hand.  She  was  going  out  to  the 
corner  for  some  milk  for  her  morning  coffee.  It 
was  raining.  Two  girls  were  hanging  dripping 
water-proofs  on  the  pegs  of  the  hat-rack  in  the 
hall ;  one  of  them  was  Miss  Martin,  and  it  was 
she  who  now  cried  out  shrilly  that  she  "  hated  a 
man  flirt  above  ground." 

At  this  stage  in  the  conversation  they  saw  Ro 
wena. 

"Holloa,  is  that  you  ?"  said  Miss  Martin.  "We 
were  talkin' about  Mr.  Foster.  Did  you  know  he's 
an  awful  flirt  ?" 

Rowena  wondered  why  the  two  looked  so  close 
ly  at  her  as  this  question  was  put.  She  paused 
at  the  last  step  and  rested  her  pail  on  the  top  of 
the  post. 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  205 

"  No  ;  I  didn't  know  it,"  she  said. 

"  Well,  he  is ;  he's  jest  awful.  They  do  say 
now  he's  got  a  girl  out  in  Maiden  and  one  in 
Roxbury.  I  d'know  how  many  he's  got  in 
Boston." 

They  still  gazed  sharply  at  her. 

"  I  hope  none  of  them  are  inclined  to  be  jeal 
ous,"  she  remarked,  somewhat  embarrassed  by 
their  scrutiny;  resenting  it,  but  feeling  helpless. 

Miss  Martin  laughed  boisterously. 

"  I  pity  um  if  they  be,"  she  said ;  "  I  guess 
they'd  have  to  take  it  out  in  being  jealous,  don't 
you,  Jen  ?" 

Jen  said  she  guessed  they  would,  too. 

Rowena  had  a  sensation  of  disgust,  and  of  self- 
reproof  that  she  was  disgusted,  a  feeling  she  had 
known  when  in  Miss  Martin's  company  before. 
She  knew  that  all  working- girls  were  not  like 
this.  She  made  a  movement  to  go.  They  ap 
peared  disposed  to  linger  a  little  before  going 
down  to  breakfast. 

"Ain't  to-night  the  night  you're  going  to  the 
theatre?"  inquired  Miss  Martin. 

Rowena  could  not  tell  why  she  should  feel 
somehow  ashamed  that  she  must  reply  "  Yes." 

"The  medyum's  goin',  ain't  she?" 

"Yes." 

The  two  girls  giggled.  Miss  Martin  said  she 
hoped  she  wouldn't  go  into  a  trance.  Then  she 


206  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

informed  Rowena  that  she,  Miss  Martin,  and  a 
"gentleman  friend"  had  been  asked  to  join  the 
party,  but  "  they'd  ben  otherwise  engaged.  Be 
sides,"  she  added, with  another  laugh, "she  didn't 
know's  'twas  necessary  to  have  a  dooenna  along  ; 
there  couldn't  be  half  as  much  fun." 

Now  Rowena  opened  the  hall  door  and  stepped 
out  into  the  street.  She  could  not  tell  why  she 
was  conscious  of  a  sense  of  humiliation.  Her 
cheeks  burned  as  she  recalled  the  talk  and  the 
glances  she  had  just  heard  and  seen.  She  wished 
she  were  not  going  to  the  theatre.  She  tried  to 
think  of  some  excuse  she  could  offer.  The  more 
she  thought  of  the  subject  the  stronger  was  her 
disinclination. 

She  walked  by  the  grocery  where  she  was  to 
get  her  milk,  and  hurried  back  to  it.  She  bought 
an  extra  pint  every  day  now  because  Marmaduke 
had  shown  a  liking  for  that  kind  of  food,  and  she 
had  learned  that  he  was  rather  particular.  She 
never  dared  to  have  him  on  the  street  without  a 
string  attached  to  him.  She  scrupulously  took 
him  a  long  walk  in  this  manner  every  day.  She 
was  already  absurdly  fond  of  him.  She  conversed 
with  him  as  she  sat  in  her  room  painting  hour 
after  hour. 

She  considered  that  she  had  had  a  piece  of 
great  good-luck  lately.  She  had  sold  two  little 
water-color  sketches,  both  of  them  bits  of  the  up- 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  2 07 

land  pasture  back  of  her  home.  The  small  sum 
she  received  she  put  away  in  the  bottom  of  her 
trunk  to  be  sacredly  reserved  for  the  use  of  Mar- 
maduke  ;  if  he  wanted  a  scrap  of  something  good 
he  must  have  it.  He  was  a  person  who  quite  ap 
preciated  a  scrap  of  something  good. 

Now,  if  Marmaduke  had  not  been  waiting  for 
her  in  her  room,  Rowena  felt  that  she  would 
have  liked  to  prolong  her  stroll  indefinitely.  It 
was  spring.  It  was  raining  gently.  Even  the 
town  could  not  avoid  letting  one  know  that  it 
was  spring.  And  how  busy  the  sparrows  were ! 
How  they  fought !  A  few  bunches  of  fading, 
trailing  arbutus  were  in  a  shop-window  that  she 
gassed.  She  thought  the  housatonia  must  be 
thick  in  the  lane  that  led  from  the  cow- yard, 
and  the  saxifrage  among  the  rocks  in  the  or 
chard.  She  sighed.  But  though  she  sighed  she 
did  not  feel  that  poignant  pang  which  she  had 
known  so  many  times  in  the  first  weeks  of  her 
stay. 

She  now  hurried  along  with  her  tin  pail.  When 
she  came  in  sight  of  her  house  she  grew  hot  again 
and  thought  of  the  interview  with  those  girls.  A 
sudden  fear  came  to  her  that  she  would  meet 
Mr.  Foster  before  she  could  possibly  get  to  her 
room.  She  ran  up  the  steps  and  did  not  slack 
en  her  pace  until  she  was  at  the  top  of  the  first 
flight.  Marmaduke  began  to  bark  when  he  heard 


208  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

her  coming,  and  when  she  opened  the  door  of 
her  room  she  set  down  her  milk  that  he  might 
leap  into  her  arms.  She  hugged  him  and  con 
fided  to  him  the  fact  that  she  had  not  half  lived 
until  he  came ;  that  she  should  not  half  live  if 
he  should  go  away.  She  had  a  joy  in  the  knowl 
edge  that  it  is  so  safe  to  love  a  dog. 

In  a  short  time  she  was  drinking  her  coffee, 
and  Marmaduke  was  lapping  milk  and  greatly 
dabbling  his  beard  and  mustache  in  the  liquid. 
He  kindly  ate,  also,  a  small  quantity  of  boiled 
egg,  then  went  and  sat  on  the  window-ledge  lest 
some  stray  cat  should  walk  over  the  roof  below 
and  he  should  not  see  her. 

Rowena  tried  to  settle  calmly  to  her  work;  she 
was  thinking  all  the  time  of  the  theatre -party. 
At  last  she  rose  and  went  down-stairs,  taking  the 
terrier  under  her  arm.  She  liked  to  feel  his  lit 
tle  warm  body  held  closely  to  her,  and  he  looked 
out  from  this  position  as  if  he  were  thoroughly 
used  to  it. 

Mrs.  Jarvis  had  just  risen  from  her  ticket-ta 
ble.  Since  spring  had  really  come  she  wore  until 
noon  a  palm-leaf  loose  gown  that  had  precisely 
the  same  effect  as  the  wadded  gown,  only  it  was 
not  wadded.  Her  pompadour  roll  never  varied 
by  as  much  as  a  hair.  Her  shabby  face  lighted 
a  little  at  sight  of  the  girl. 

"I'm  jest  going  down  for  my  breakfast,"  she 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  209 

said.  "  They've  all  gone,  finally,  and  I  hope  I  c'n 
have  a  minute's  peace.  Don't  you  want  a  cup  of 
coffee  with  me  ?" 

Rowcna  went  to  the  dining-room  with  her. 
The  girl  had  almost  come  to  have  a  sort  of  lik 
ing  for  the  always -tired  hack  of  a  woman  by 
whom  she  sat  now. 

"  Nothing  tastes  good,"  said  Mrs.  Jarvis,  after 
trying  to  eat  some  lukewarm  ham-and-eggs.  She 
pushed  the  plate  from  her.  She  now  glanced  at 
Rowena.  "  Seems  to  me  you  look  kind  of  wor 
ried  yourself." 

"  I  don't  want  to  go  to  the  theatre  to-night. 
I'm  worrying  about  that  now,"  replied  the  girl, 
with  a  smile. 

"  Goodness  !  I  hope  you  won't  have  anything 
worse'n  that  to  worry  about.  Most  girls  'd  be 
fretting  'cause  they  couldn't  go.  Madame  Van 
Benthuysen's  going,  ain't  she?" 

"Yes,"  said  Rowena  ;  "  she  has  put  off  the  spir 
its  for  one  night  I'm  sorry  I  said  I'd  go.  Can't 
you  think  of  an  excuse  for  me,  Mrs.  Jarvis?" 

The  young  voice  fell  very  sweetly  on  the  wom 
an's  ears.  The  elder  woman  turned  and  met  the 
young,  questioning  eyes. 

"  I   guess   you'd  better   go,"  she    counselled. 

"  You'll  have  a  real  good  time.     They  like  you 

first-rate,  and  they'll  be  awful  disappointed    if 

you   don't  go.     Ferdinand's  sister  is  comin'  in 

14 


210  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

from  Newton  on  purpose  to  go.  You'll  like  her. 
She's  a  book-keeper,  only  she's  out  of  health 
now.  Her  firm  thought  so  much  of  her  that 
they're  keeping  her  place  for  her.  Oh,  you'd  bet 
ter  go." 

Rowena  sighed,  and  offered  Marmaduke  a  bit 
of  ham,  which  he  refused.  He  had  his  front 
paws  on  the  extreme  edge  of  the  table,  and  was 
looking  leisurely  and  thoroughly  about  him.  Pos 
sibly  he  was  thinking  that  Mrs.  Sears's  dining- 
room  did  not  in  the  least  resemble  this  one. 

"  I  suppose  I  shall  go,  then,"  said  Rowena. 

"  Oh  yes,  of  course.  They  did  it  jest  for  you, 
I  guess.  Madame  was  real  taken  with  you.  Have 
you  thought  any  more  about  being  developed  ?" 

"Oh  no." 

"  Well,  there's  time  enough.  You'll  get  used 
to  the  idea  after  a  while." 

When  it  was  time  to  begin  to  get  ready  for  the 
evening  Rowena  needed  a  great  deal  of  moral 
courage  to  enable  her  to  rise  above  the  thought 
of  her  clothes.  She  did  not  quite  succeed  in  the 
effort,  but  she  did  not  give  up  the  attempt.  She 
felt,  however,  that  it  was  contemptible  to  be  con 
scious  of  one's  apparel. 

It  was  not  more  than  seven  o'clock  when  one 
of  Mrs.  Jarvis's  servants  called  her  down  to  the 
parlor.  She  said  there  was  a  lady  there. 

Rowena's  heart  began  to  beat  as  it  always  did 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  211 

when  she  thought  that  Miss  Phillipps  was  near. 
She  hurried  down. 

But  it  was  not  Miss  Phillipps.  A  very  differ 
ent  person  rose  from  the  horse-hair  couch  beneath 
the  "  spirit  friend."  A  small  person  in  gray  gown 
and  gray  spring  jacket,  very  neatly  and  yet  cheap 
ly  dressed.  Rowena  hesitated.  She  thought 
there  had  been  a  mistake. 

"Miss  Tuttle?"  said  the  stranger. 

"  I  am  Miss  Tuttle,"  said  Rowena. 

"  I  asked  for  Mrs.  Jarvis,"  went  on  the  girl, 
with  some  shyness,  "  but  she  is  out.  I  thought 
it  might  not  be  so  awkward  if  she  could  intro 
duce  us.  I  am  Miss  Foster,  Ferdinand's  sister. 
He  suggested  that  I  make  you  a  little  call  before 
the  theatre ;  and  I  was  glad  to  come." 

Rowena  now  held  out  her  hand  cordially.  She 
was  pleased  with  Miss  Foster.  She  told  her  so 
earnestly  that  it  was  kind  of  her  to  come  that 
Miss  Foster  felt  her  sincerity  with  a  curious 
pleasure.  Rowena's  voice,  also,  gave  her  almost 
a  thrill,  it  was  so  clear  and  sweet  and  honest. 
She  held  her  hand  an  instant  longer  than  was 
necessary.  Then  she  dropped  it  and  blushed. 
She  was  not  self-possessed  like  her  brother.  She 
did  not  look  like  him  either. 

"  I  should  have  liked  real  well  to  call  on  you 
before,"  she  began,  "  but  I've  been  so  out  of 
health  I  haven't  been  much  of  anywhere.  Fer- 


212  ROWENV    IN    BOSTON. 

dinand  has  mentioned  you  several  times,  and 
he  doesn't  often  mention  his  acquaintances ;  he 
thinks  I  won't  be  interested  in  'em,  usually.  And 
I  don't  think  I  should,  either.  Ferdinand  is  quite 
gay." 

She  said  the  last  phrase  as  if,  while  she  depre 
cated  the  fact  of  her  brother's  gayety,  she  was 
still  somewhat  proud  of  it.  She  coughed,  and 
put  her  handkerchief  to  her  lips  bashfully. 

Rowena  sat  down  near  her. 

"You  are  not  well?"  she  said,  sympathetically. 

"  Oh,  I'm  a  great  deal  better  than  I  was  a 
month  ago.  I  shall  go  back  to  my  work  soon. 
And  I  owe  it  all  to  the  science.  If  it  hadn't  been 
for  the  science  I  don't  know  what  would  have 
become  of  me." 

Rowena  leaned  forward  eagerly. 

"  The  science  ?"  she  repeated. 

''Yes,  indeed,"  was  the  almost  feverish  re 
sponse.  "Don't  you  know  about  the  science? 
You  see,  I've  been  living  in  the  new  thought,  and 
I'm  so  thankful  to  Mrs.  Jones-Burt  that  I  don't 
know  what  to  do.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  her  I 
should  have  been  thinking  now  that  there  was 
such  a  thing  as  disease." 

"  But  there  is  disease,  you  know,"  said  Rowe 
na,  with  innocent  conviction. 

"  Oh  no,  no  !  That's  the  old  thought ;  that's 
because  you  have  fear.  You  must  drop  fear. 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  213 

Now,  for  instance,  one  cause  of  a  cold  is  being 
in  the  draught,  but  the  main  cause  is  fear.  It  is 
all  cured  by  putting  yourself  into  the  mind  of 
God.  Just  be  borne  by  the  current.  Face  the 
light  instead  of  the  dark.  You  have  only  to  hold 
yourself  still  and  let  God,  who  dwells  in  you,  do 
the  work.  You  know  you  can  be  all  that  God  is. 
If  you  keep  yourself  in  that  thought,  all  evil 
drops.  Don't  you  see?" 

Miss  Foster's  eyes  were  sparkling,  and  her  thin 
face  was  red  with  excitement. 

Rowena  was  excited,  also.  She  sighed.  She 
must  be  very  stupid.  She  said,  "  No,  she  could 
not  see." 

"  Oh,  it's  all  so  clear  to  me  !"  exclaimed  Miss 
Foster.  "  Just  as  clear  !" 

The  two  looked  at  each  other  a  moment. 

"You  must  hear  Mrs.  Jones-Burt ;  you  certain 
ly  must." 

"  I  should  like  to  hear  her,"  responded  Ro 
wena. 

Miss  Foster  gave  a  short,  nervous  laugh. 

"  Here  I  have  been  going  on  about  Christian 
Science  just  as  if  I  had  known  you  ever  so  long, 
Miss  Tuttle.  I  hope  you'll  excuse  me.  Ferdi 
nand  says  I'm  about  crazy  on  the  subject.  He 
laughs  at  it.  He  laughs  at  a  good  many  things. 
But  it's  done  just  everything  for  me,  just  every 
thing  for  me." 


214  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

Miss  Foster  coughed,  and  again  put  her  hand 
kerchief  to  her  lips  with  the  same  nervous  mo 
tion.  Then  she  said,  with  a  polite  assumption  of 
interest : 

"  I  understand  you  are  studying  art,  Miss  Tut- 
tle?" 

As  Rowena  was  replying,  the  door-bell  rang. 
After  a  long  time  a  large  Irishwoman  came  lum 
bering  up  from  the  kitchen  and  opened  the  door. 

Madame  Van  Benthuysen  entered,  followed  by 
her  nephew.  She  was  in  a  plaid  suit  with  a  plaid 
cape,  and  in  this  guise  she  seemed  to  be  even 
larger  than  she  had  been  in  her  fur  circular.  The 
nephew  was  in  great  spirits. 

"  So  you're  here,  Sis,"  he  said,  after  they  had 
greeted  Rowena.  "  Told  her  all  about  the  sci 
ence,  I  expect.  What  does  Miss  Tuttle  think  of 
it?  But  you  are  better  and  no  mistake." 

"  If  the  science  has  helped  her,  let  the  science 
have  the  credit,"  remarked  Madame  Van  Ben 
thuysen,  largely.  It  was  as  if  she  had  said  that 
she  was  willing  to  acknowledge  that  there  were 
things  in  this  world  as  effectual  as  the  spirits  in 
the  other  world. 

Mr.  Foster  looked  at  his  watch  and  said  that 
there  was  no  hurry.  The  rest  of  the  party,  con 
sisting  of  two,  would  be  at  the  theatre.  After 
a  short  time  the  young  man's  face  underwent  a 
change ;  it  was  no  longer  so  gay.  In  truth,  he 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  215 

did  not  feel  so  happy.  He  could  not  tell  pre 
cisely  why.  He  had,  as  he  would  have  said, 
"  reckoned  "  on  this  evening  ever  since  the  ap 
pointment.  Rowena  smiled  at  him  and  talked 
with  him,  but  there  was  a  certain  remoteness 
about  her  that  had  a  very  disastrous  effect  upon 
his  spirits. 

This  effect  continued  all  the  evening.  In 
thinking  over  these  hours  afterwards,  the  young 
man  could  not,  to  quote  him  once  more,  "  put 
his  finger  on  a  thing."  Rowena  never  had  been 
particularly  kind  to  him,  he  owned,  but  she  had 
never  been  so  very  far  away  from  him. 

She  and  Miss  Foster  talked  with  an  appear 
ance  almost  of  intimacy.  At  last,  after  the  oys 
ters  and  the  ice-cream,  and  after  Rowena  had 
been  safely  left  at  Mrs.  Jarvis's,  Ferdinand  was 
alone  with  his  sister  at  Madame  Van  Benthuy- 
sen's  residence  on  Harrison  Avenue.  She  ex 
claimed  enthusiastically  that  she  knew  "  she 
should  like  Miss  Tuttle  awfully."  Ferdinand 
only  grunted  inarticulately. 

He  did  not  remain.  He  went  out  and  slammed 
the  door  with  extreme  violence.  He  twitched 
out  the  small  bunch  of  violets  from  his  coat  and 
flung  them  into  the  street.  He  swore  he  had 
had  a  devilish  poor  time,  and  he  hoped  the  rest 
hadn't  had  any  better.  He  was  not  in  a  good- 
luunor. 


2l6  ROWENV    IN    BOSTON. 

Rowena,  on  the  contrary,  was  in  a  very  good- 
humor.  She  had  liked  Miss  Foster,  though  she 
had  wished  she  was  not  quite  so  nervous.  She 
had  been  greatly  interested  in  the  way  she  lived 
when  she  was  book-keeping  in  Boston.  She  kept 
house  in  a  room  up  at  the  South  End. 

The  two  girls  found  a  common  ground  here. 
They  told  their  experiences  between  the  acts. 
Of  course,  Rowena  had  not  much  time  to  give 
to  Mr.  Foster,  although  she  tried  to  attend  to 
his  remarks.  Miss  Foster  was  to  resume  her 
work  next  week,  and  Rowena  was  going  up  to 
her  room  to  visit  her. 

Marmaduke  was  very  sleepy  when  Rowena  re 
turned  ;  but  he  waked  thoroughly,  and  from  that 
time  on  until  the  morning  he  was  continually 
springing  off  his  cushion  to  rush  at  the  walls  of 
the  rooms,  behind  which  was  a  great  scuffling 
of  rats. 

Therefore  his  mistress  slept  very  little.  Once, 
at  about  three,  Marmaduke  was  so  violent,  and 
squealed  and  scratched  so,  that  Rowena  almost 
believed  he  had  caught  a  rat. 

She  lighted  her  little  lamp,  having  a  dreadful 
feeling  that  she  was  surrounded.  But  there  was 
nothing  but  Marmaduke  wagging  and  dancing 
on  his  hind-legs  for  joy  at  seeing  her  up.  The 
light,  however,  revealed  a  letter  which  she  had 
not  seen  when  she  had  come  in. 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  217 

The  envelope  bore  Eunice  Warner's  handwrit 
ing.  It  was  a  childish  hand.  In  one  corner  was 
the  word  "  imediate,"  deeply  underlined.  The 
lack  of  the  usual  number  of  letters  seemed  to 
make  the  word  stand  out  more  urgently. 

Rowena  wrapped  her  shawl  about  her  and 
opened  the  envelope,  while  the  terrier  jumped 
in  her  lap  to  investigate. 

"  Georgie's  been  just  crazy  for  me  to  send  for 
you,"  the  missive  began  abruptly,  "and  I'm  goin' 
to,  anyway.  She's  sick.  She's  got  a  fever,  I  guess. 
And  she's  terrible  odd.  Mar  says  she  must  have 
something  on  her  mind,  but  Georgie  says  she 
ain't  got  a  thing  on  her  mind  ;  but  she  does  wish 
you'd  come  out  if  you  possibly  can.  She  sets  up 
some,  but  she  don't  eat  nothing  scarcely;  don't 
nothing  taste  good.  We  thought  mebby  as  you 
was  talking  some  of  coming  home  'fore  long,  you 
could  come  out  to-morrer  with  Mr.  Little.  He 
said  he'd  take  this  and  he  could  bring  you  's 
well  's  not.  Mother  said  I  was  to  be  sure  and 
not  scare  you  about  Georgie,  but  she  couldn't 
help  feeling  kinder  worried.  Jim  Townshend's 
been  here  every  day.  He  seems  all  used  up 
about  Georgie.  He's  just  's  good  's  he  can  be. 
Yours  respectfully,  EUNICE  WARNER." 

Rowena  read  the  letter  through  twice.  She 
crept  back  to  bed,  with  the  terrier  in  her  arms. 


2l8  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

"We  shall  have  to  go,  Marmaduke,"  she  said. 
"  It  will  only  be  a  little  earlier,  anyway.  I  must 
send  word  to  Miss  Phillipps  that  I  can't  go  to 
Mrs.  Jones-  Burt's  lecture  on  the  science.  And 
I  can't  finish  that  sketch  of  the  brook  by  the 
birches.  Allestree  calls  that  good  work.  Of 
course,  it  isn't  anything  about  Jim  Townshend. 
I  shall  go  right  home  first." 

Rowena  liked  to  talk  to  the  dog.  It  had  been 
a  privation  not  to  speak  in  the  long  hours  when 
she  was  alone. 

She  could  not  go  to  sleep  again.  The  thought 
of  seeing  her  father  and  mother  and  the  others 
made  her  restless.  Now  she  wondered  how  she 
had  stayed  away  all  these  weeks.  She  could 
hardly  wait  for  the  time  when  she  should  be  on 
the  way.  She  cried  at  thought  of  the  meeting. 
She  had  stuck  to  her  work ;  she  was  glad  of  that. 
But  she  deserved  no  praise ;  she  loved  it  so  well 
she  could  not  neglect  it. 

As  soon  as  it  was  light  she  dressed.  It  was 
too  early  to  go  out.  Uncle  Reuben  would  not 
start  for  several  hours. 

Rowena  put  the  portrait  of  Miss  Phillipps  on 
the  easel  and  looked  at  it. 


ROWENY   IN    BOSTON.  219 


XV. 

A  HORSEMAN. 

IT  was  a  fortunate  thing  that  Reuben  Little 
was  not  what  is  called  "in  liquor"  the  day  Ro- 
wena  was  to  go  home  with  him.  He  was  very 
melancholy  and  despondent.  He  said  the  girl 
might  ride  with  him  if  she  thought  he  was  good 
enough.  He  said  he  hadn't  taken  the  pladge  yet, 
but  he  should  before  he  was  twenty-four  hours 
older.  This  was  an  assertion  that  he  was  in  the 
habit  of  making,  so  it  did  not  greatly  impress  his 
companion. 

The  two  were  sitting  on  an  uncomfortable  seat 
placed  on  the  narrow  platform  which  connected 
the  two  pair  of  wheels  on  which  the  boats  were 
fastened.  Now  an  arrangement  made  exclusive 
ly  for  the  transportation  of  boats  is  not  supreme 
ly  comfortable  for  the  human  being.  But  Ro- 
wena  thought  she  should  not  mind  it.  She  was 
somewhat  cramped,  but  she  could  get  out  and 
walk  occasionally.  She  was  afraid  Marmaduke 
would  not  like  his  accommodations.  The  terrier 
was  rather  particular.  He  had  not  been  used  to 


220  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

travelling  by  means  of  wheels  arranged  for  row- 
boats.  It  was  not  nearly  as  comfortable  as  if  the 
boat  had  been  along  and  they  in  it. 

When  the  horse  went  uphill  Rowena  thought 
she  should  slide  backward,  and  when  he  went 
downhill  she  knew  she  should  go  forward  be 
tween  the  animal's  hind-legs.  There  was  noth 
ing  visible  to  prevent  her  doing  these  two  things. 
Uncle  Reuben,  who  to-day  took  a  black  view  of 
everything,  said  there  wasn't  much  chance  that 
he  could  see  why  she  shouldn't  slip  off  both  ways 
a  dozen  times  before  they  got  home. 

And  Marmaduke  was  seized  with  a  desire  to 
stand  upright  in  her  lap  and  lurch  this  way  and 
that,  barking  ferociously  at  every  carriage  they 
met.  This  peculiarity  of  his  made  the  situation 
still  more  complicated,  for  Rowena  was  obliged 
to  have  a  firm  hold  on  the  terrier's  hind-legs  lest 
in  his  intensity  he  should  precipitate  himself  on 
the  ground  and  be  trampled  on  or  run  over.  And 
for  the  first  few  miles  they  were  constantly  meet 
ing  all  kinds  of  teams. 

When  they  had  traversed  a  distance  of  five  or 
six  miles  matters  in  regard  to  Marmaduke  began 
to  grow  calmer.  He  sat  down  on  his  haunches 
and  put  out  his  adorable  little  red  tongue  to 
pant. 

Rowena  was  beginning  to  rest  somewhat  when 
all  at  once  Marmaduke  stood  up  in  order  to  wag 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  221 

his  stub-tail,  and  his  diminutive  self  vibrated  as 
it  did  when  he  saw  a  friend.  A  man  on  horse 
back  had  cantered  from  a  side  street.  This  man 
would  not  have  looked  at  the  equipage  moving 
at  a  foot-pace  had  he  not  heard  the  dog's  sharp 
bark  of  welcome.  But  once  looking  he  glanced 
again.  He  wheeled  quickly  round  and  raised  his 
cap,  exclaiming : 

"It  is  Miss  Tuttle!" 

Miss  Tuttle,  keeping  her  terrier  in  her  lap  by 
main  force,  met  Mr.  Keats  Bradford's  surprised 
eyes  with  a  smile. 

"  Are  you  leaving  Boston  ?"  he  asked,  quickly. 

"  Yes." 

"  Does  Miss  Phillipps  know  it?" 

He  was  prepared  to  be  very  angry  with  his 
cousin  if  she  had  known  and  kept  the  knowl 
edge  from  him. 

"  She  will  know  it  when  she  gets  my  note  to 
day." 

"  But  you  are  coming  back?"  with  more  eager 
ness  than  he  usually  displayed. 

His  face  showed  unmistakable  relief  when  she 
replied.  He  did  not  turn  his  horse  towards  the 
city.  Into  his  air  and  attitude  there  came  a  sud 
den  gayety.  His  eyes,  in  color  and  capability  of 
expression  so  much  like  those  of  Miss  Phillipps, 
took  on  a  certain  look  which  somehow  Rowena 
found  it  difficult,  nay,  almost  impossible,  to  meet. 


222  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

Without  suspecting  in  the  least  why,  she  also 
was  conscious  of  a  sense  something  like  exhilara 
tion. 

Mr.  Bradford  had  pity  on  Marmaduke's  ex 
cited  condition.  He  leaned  forward  from  his 
horse,  skilfully  took  the  dog  from  the  girl  and 
placed  him  in  front  of  him,  keeping  gentle  but 
firm  hold  of  one  hairy  hind -leg.  Marmaduke 
seemed  absolutely  to  grin  in  the  superlativeness 
of  his  content  with  this  arrangement.  He  gave 
Rowena  a  glance  of  kindly  commiseration  be 
cause  she  could  not  come  also. 

"  He  and  I  are  old  friends,"  said  Mr.  Bradford. 
"  We  understand  each  other  perfectly." 

Rowena  was  in  an  exceedingly  pleasant  frame 
of  mind  ;  she  even  laughed  at  this  man's  inabil 
ity  to  pronounce  some  words  correctly. 

She  thought  that  to  see  him  was  something 
like  seeing  his  cousin,  without  that  occasional 
sense  of  insecurity  which  she  knew  when  with 
Miss  Phillipps. 

The  suburbs  of  the  city  were  left  behind. 
They  were  in  the  open  country  where  farms 
began  to  stretch  out  over  the  hills  and  fields. 
It  was  May.  People  were  planting.  There  was 
the  scent  of  the  earth  in  the  air.  There  were 
dandelions  by  the  road -side,  where  the  grass 
was  growing  strongly.  The  robins  and  blue 
birds  were  wildly  happy.  The  little  song  spar- 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  223 

rows  swelled  their  tiny  throats  with  their  deli 
cious  songs. 

Mr.  Reuben  Little  was  mostly  silent.  This 
gentleman  had  been  duly  introduced  to  him  by 
his  niece,  and  he  had  looked  him  over  very  sharp 
ly,  Mr.  Bradford  being  perfectly  conscious  of  the 
scrutiny,  and  even  going  so  far  as  to  wish  it  might 
bring  a  favorable  conclusion. 

For  the  first  ten  miles  Mr.  Bradford  thought 
that  in  a  few  moments  he  would  say  "  good 
bye  "  and  turn  back.  But  he  went  on.  Real 
ly,  how  marvellously  lovely  the  country  was  in 
May !  It  was  different  from  the  suburbs,  alto 
gether  different.  He  said  a  few  ardent  words 
to  this  effect.  He  did  not  quite  know  himself 
in  this  ardor,  which  seemed  to  be  present  in 
his  most  commonplace  remarks.  Or  rather,  to 
be  strictly  true,  perhaps  he  did  know  himself, 
vaguely,  as  being  under  the  influence  of  that  girl 
who  sat  there  in  that  rubbishing  old  cart,  and 
who  now  and  then  glanced  up  at  him  for  one 
swift  instant.  He  began  to  cast  about  in  his 
mind  for  subjects  which  should  have  the  effect 
of  making  her  look  at  him.  All  other  subjects 
appeared  very  flat,  indeed. 

But  I  hope  it  is  not  understood  that  Keats 
Bradford  did  not  know  what  he  was  about.  He 
knew  extremely  well,  no  man  better,  and  when 
he  said,  after  a  dozen  miles  had  been  gone  oyer, 


224  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

that  he  believed  he  would  continue  right  on  to 
the  end  of  Miss  Tuttle's  journey,  he  had  most 
thoroughly  made  up  his  mind  to  let  himself  go. 
He  knew  there  was  a  rush  and  a  swing  and  an 
intoxication  about  letting  one's  self  go  that  was 
comparable  to  nothing  else  in  the  world. 

"  I've  been  wondering  what  little  trip  to  take," 
he  remarked,  in  explanation,  "  and  a  fortunate 
chance  has  decided  me.  Don't  tell  me  it  will 
annoy  you,  Miss  Tuttle;  be  kind  and  say  you'll 
like  to  have  me  along." 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  replied  Rowena,  almost  too 
readily  to  please  Mr.  Bradford  thoroughly,  "  it 
will  be  pleasant." 

And  it  was  extremely  pleasant.  Sometimes 
the  girl  alighted  from  the  cart  and  walked  up  a 
long  hill,  Mr.  Bradford  walking  beside  her  with 
the  bridle  over  his  arm,  and  Marmaduke  career 
ing  madly  everywhere. 

Mr.  Reuben  Little  did  not  once  change  his  po 
sition.  He  said  he  was  used  to  it.  He  sat  there 
while  the  two  went  on  ahead,  for  anything  that 
could  move  at  all  moved  faster  than  Mr.  Little's 
horse  when  it  was  going  uphill. 

"Thunder  and  lightning!"  remarked  Reuben 
once  to  himself;  "  I  wonder  what  Roweny  thinks 
of  him.  Gals  is  so  mortal  queer  you  can't  make 
'em  out  more'n  you  can  a  riddle.  'N'  Roweny 
never  was  in  the  least  sut  on  beaux.  She  never 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  225 

seems  to  perk  'n'  twist  herself  jest  'cause  a  man 
speaks  to  her  kinder  pleasant.  Cluck  !  Git  up  !" 

Mr.  Little  languidly  slapped  the  right  line  on 
the  horse's  back.  The  horse  in  response  turned 
his  right  ear  backward,  and  he  made  no  other  re 
sponse. 

This  man  entertained  himself  by  studying  for 
a  long  time  the  riding  costume  worn  by  Mr.  Brad 
ford.  He  made  an  estimate  of  the  cost  of  those 
leather  leggings,  leather  always  being  "  mighty 
high ;"  but  he  was  rather  baffled  by  some  other 
articles  of  the  suit.  Then  he  gave  himself  up  to 
stolid  watching  of  the  man  and  to  listening  to 
every  word  he  said. 

Mr.  Bradford  was  particularly  gifted  in  many 
respects,  but  in  none  more  than  in  the  ability  to 
put  a  great  deal  of  meaning  into  words  that  in 
themselves  meant  very  little. 

For  instance,  he  could  say  "Thanks"  with  eye 
and  tongue  in  such  a  way  that  the  most  sensible 
and  reasonable  girl  might  be  pardoned  for  blush 
ing  and  for  remembering  the  moment  with  a 
tremor.  But  Keats  Bradford  was  not  fully  aware 
of  this  power  of  his.  It  was  only  one  of  the  re 
sults  of  the  process  of  "  letting  himself  go." 
When  he  spoke  and  looked  in  this  kind  of  a 
way  it  was  only  because  he  felt  strongly.  He 
was  not  that  sort  of  a  creature  who  tries  exper 
iments.  If  he  was  deeply  moved,  the  result 
15 


226  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

often  was   that  some   one  else  became  deeply 
moved  also,  and  generally  in  a  way  similar. 

Even  Reuben  Little  had  a  dim  sense  of  some 
thing  rather  out  of  the  ordinary  in  this  person 
in  the  leather  leggings.  He  could  not,  as  he 
told  his  wife  afterwards,  when  he  discussed  the 
matter  with  her,  he  could  not  make  out  as  "that 
feller"  said  a  word  to  Rowena  all  the  way  out 
but  what  he  might  have  said  himself;  but  he 
vowed  it  was  the  tallest  and  by  far  the  most  su 
perior  kind  of  courtin'  he  ever  saw  done  in  his 
life.  If  he'd  "  been  a  gal  he  should  have  jest 
been  pleased  'nough." 

And  praise  from  Reuben  Little,  when  he  was 
not  "  in  liquor,"  was  praise  indeed. 

At  last  the  way  began  to  seem  familiar  to  Ro 
wena.  There  was  the  "  third  district  school- 
house  ;"  there  was  the  old  pine-tree  which  had 
been  struck  by  lightning  and  riven  down  the 
middle  of  the  trunk.  Even  the  horse-briers  by 
the  way-side  had  a  different  look  to  them.  At 
the  top  of  a  hill  she  could  see  the  spire  of  the 
Baptist  Church  at  the  Corners.  In  two  miles 
more  she  would  be  at  home.  She  grew  silent 
with  the  sudden  rising  of  the  emotions  which 
had  been  kept  in  the  background. 

Mr.  Bradford  presently  asked  Mr.  Little  to  di 
rect  him  to  the  hotel  of  the  nearest  village.  He 
told  Rowena  he  might  be  in  the  vicinity  a  couple 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  227 

of  days ;  in  that  case  he  should  call  on  her,  if  she 
gave  him  permission.  Then  he  rode  down  a  cross 
road.  Rowena  was  glad  he  was  gone.  Now  that 
she  was  so  near  her  home  his  presence  confused 
her.  She  drew  a  long  breath  and  looked  eagerly 
at  every  object ;  every  birch-tree  spoke  to  her  in 
the  old  language,  but  was  it  as  sweet  a  language 
as  she  had  thought  ?  Was  there  really  a  hint  of 
dreariness  and  desolation  in  the  rocky  farms  and 
the  low-browed, solemn-looking  houses  near  which 
she  sometimes  saw  a  man  slouching  and  gazing 
intently  at  them  ? 

Everybody  they  saw  now  nodded  at  them. 
Rowena  knew  they  would  all  tell  that "  they  seen 
Roweny  Tuttle  goin'  'long  with  Little."  She 
knew  also  that  they  would  wonder  among  each 
other  as  to  whether  she  had  "  come  home  for 
good  or  not."  Delegates  from  different  direc 
tions  would  appear  soon  at  Mr.  Turtle's  to  learn 
whether  her  arrival  was  for  good.  There  .was  a 
very  well-defined  feeling  of  hostility  towards  her 
plan  of"  studyin'  in  Borston."  They  did  not  un 
derstand  it.  If  she  wanted  to  study,  why  not 
have  her  paints  and  things  at  home?  You  could 
get  real  good  paints  at  Middle  Village ;  and  one 
of  the  stores  there  had  for  sale  those  thin  brass 
disks  on  which  some  women  painted  daisies  and 
pansies.  Philip  Barrett  had  long  had  it  in  his 
mind  that  he  would  present  Rowena  with  one  of 


228  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

these  brass  objects  so  that  she  might  paint  what 
she  chose  on  it.  But  he  had  never  yet  resolved 
to  do  it.  To  him  there  was  some  mystery  in 
the  way  she  thought  about  painting — "art,"  as 
she  called  it. 

Rowena  could  hardly  wait  for  the  movements 
of  Uncle  Reuben's  horse  to  take  her  over  the 
road.  They  had  now  climbed  to  the  top  of  that 
long  hill,  near  the  foot  of  which  was  the  turn, 
and  opposite  the  Warner  house. 

Rowena  felt  as  if  she  could  not  stop,  even  for 
the  time  necessary  to  inquire  about  Georgie.  She 
must  get  home  to  her  father  and  mother.  But 
she  knew  she  would  be  expected  to  stop.  She 
had  asked  Uncle  Reuben  about  Georgie.  He 
had  said  she  was  probably  going  into  a  decline, 
or  "  failing,"  as  he  expressed  it.  But  Rowena 
knew  too  well  what  a  view  her  uncle  took  of  all 
subjects  when  he  was  contemplating  signing  the 
pledge.  Therefore  she  did  not  greatly  heed  his 
opinion. 

The  long  cart  rattled  tumultuously  down  the 
hill  and  round  the  corner. 

Eunice  was  in  the  yard  with  an  apron  hastily 
pinned  over  her  head.  Rowena  hurriedly  alight 
ed  with  Marmaduke  under  her  arm. 

Eunice  precipitated  herself  so  furiously  upon 
her  that  the  terrier  deemed  it  incumbent  upon 
him  to  growl  and  bristle  up  his  mustache. 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  22Q 

While  Rowena  was  endeavoring  to  return  the 
embrace,  and  before  she  could  say  a  word  about 
Georgie,  a  young  man  came  walking  slowly  round 
from  the  back  of  the  house.  He  had  his  hands 
in  his  pockets  and  his  hat  pushed  far  back  on  his 
head.  A  thin,  reddish  beard  covered  the  lower 
part  of  his  face,  leaving  fully  revealed  a  mouth 
which  was  shaped  in  a  way  that  was  both  hand 
some  and  weak.  His  eyes  also  were  handsome, 
and  of  that  light,  limpid  blue  which  frequently 
accompanies  sandy  hair  and  skin.  His  shoulders 
were  bent  and  very  broad.  He  gazed  with  great 
interest  at  Rowena,  whom  he  had  never  seen  be 
fore. 

Eunice  turned  quickly  to  him  and  seized  his 
arm. 

"Oh,  Jim,"  she  cried,  "she's  come!  I  knew 
she'd  come !  Now  I  guess  Georgie  '11  begin  to 
pick  up,  don't  you  ?" 

"  I  do  hope  so,"  was  the  earnest  response.  "  I 
d'know  what  we  shall  do  if  she  don't  pick  up 
soon  now." 

With  a  great  deal  of  pride  in  her  ability  to  per 
form  an  introduction,  the  child  now  introduced 
Mr.  Townshend  to  Miss  Tuttle.  The  two  shook 
hands.  She  had  a  decided  impression  that  she 
should  like  Jim  Townshend.  The  troubled, drawn 
look  on  his  face  was  due,  of  course,  to  his  anxie 
ty.  Rowena  hastened  to  say  that  she  would  go 


230  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

home  now.    She  must  see  her  mother.   She  would 

r 

come  right  over  that  very  afternoon  and  sit  with 
Georgte. 

As  she  was  about  to  climb  back  into  the  wag 
on  Mrs.  Warner  hurried  out,  rolling  down  her 
sleeves  as  she  came.  She  gave  Rowena  a  loud 
kiss.  She  said  she  hoped  Roweny'd  make  up 
her  mind  to  stay  to  home.  She'd  had  a  real 
good  chance  to  learn  to  dror  'n'  paint  now. 

Rowena  could  not  reply  to  this.  Marmaduke 
peered  at  them  all  from  the  folds  of  her  shawl. 
They  exclaimed  at  him.  Mrs.  Warner  said  she 
thought  he  was  real  cunning,  but  she  s'posed  he 
wa'n't  good  for  an  earthly  thing,  and  how  much 
had  he  cost?  The  Tifts  on  the  pine  road  had 
some  kind  of  puppies  that  they  sold  for  two  dol 
lars  a-piece. 

Rowena  said,  rather  coldly,  that  this  dog  was  a 
gift  to  her. 

Mrs.  Warner  said  she  didn't  see  why  Georgie 
didn't  git  'long,  only  she  didn't.  Roweny  must 
come  right  straight  over. 

When  Rowena  drove  on  she  held  the  terrier 
close.  She  told  him  she  supposed  the  Warners 
had  always  been  just  like  that,  but  she  had  for 
gotten. 

After  a  few  rods  they  met  Marthy  S.  walking.  In 
her  hand  she  had  the  basr  which  Rowena  remem- 


b 


bered  so  well,  the  flat,  square  twine  bag  in  which 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  231 

were  carried  a  tape-measure,  scissors,  thimble,  and 
sometimes  a  roll  of  work  to  be  taken  home. 

"  Don't  stop,"  whispered  Rowena  to  her  uncle. 
He  nodded.  But  when  Marthy  S.  stepped  right 
up  almost  in  front  of  the  wheel  he  was  obliged  to 
stop. 

Marthy  S.  put  up  her  little,  hard  hand,  and 
when  Marmaduke  reached  forward  she  sprang 
back,  exclaiming : 

"  Gracious  !  Does  he  bite  ?  How  dy  do,  Rowe- 
ny?  I  s'pose  you've  come  home  for  good  now. 
Your  mother  needs  ye.  She  ain't  first-rate.  Her 
humor's  ben  workin'  some,  she  told  me,  when  I 
seen  her  last  week.  I  guess  you  know  all  'bout 
paintin'  'n'  dorin', now,  don't  ye?  Mr.  Lapham's 
daughter  Julie's  ben  takin'  lessons  of  a  woman 
that  comes  to  the  Corners.  She  was  good  enough 
for  Julie.  But  I  guess  she  wouldn't  do  for  you. 
She's  painted  something  on  a  piece  of  slate. 
They  say  you  c'n  paint  on  most  anything  now 
adays.  I  s'pose  you've  had  a  first-rate  time. 
But  your  mother  needs  ye.  She  didn't  say  so, 
but  I  knew  if  her  humor  was  workin'  she  must 
need  ye." 

Rowena  was  growing  more  and  more  angry. 
The  old  animosity  this  woman  always  roused  in 
her  sprang  up  again. 

"  I've  been  very  busy,  Miss  Hancock."  she  said. 
"  I  didn't  go  to  have  a  good  time." 


232  ROWENY   IN    BOSTON. 

Marthy  S.  drew  back  so  that  Uncle  Reuben 
could  safely  slap  the  lines  and  cluck.  The  horse 
moved  forward,  and  the  dress-maker  went  on  her 
way. 

"  She's  just  the  same  stuck-up  thing  she  always 
was,"  she  said,  aloud.  "  I  don't  care  if  I  did  give 
her  a  dab." 

Over  Rowena's  face  the  heat  was  rising  in 
waves,  each  wave  hotter  than  the  last.  Her  eyes 
burned  so  that  she  could  not  see  very  well.  The 
narrow  white  road  glimmered  and  seemed  to  rise 
up  and  down  before  her. 

"I  wouldn't  mind  that  critter  one  grain,  Ro- 
weny,"  her  uncle  said,  roughly. 

The  girl  almost  sobbed. 

11  She  made  me  feel  as  if  she  thought  I  was 
careless  about  my  mother — my  own  mother!" 
she  cried,  in  a  smothered  voice. 

Rowena  put  her  face  down  on  Marmaduke's 
back. 

"Dumb  her!"  responded  Uncle  Reuben;  "of 
course  she  made  you  feel  bad  if  she  could.  It's 
jest  like  her." 

The  girl  was  not  going  to  yield  to  this  emo 
tion.  In  a  few  moments  she  would  be  at  home. 

She  raised  her  head  and  tried  to  believe  that 
"  things  looked  natural."  Certainly  they  had 
not  changed.  Everything  was  as  it  usually  was 
at  this  time  in  May.  Nevertheless,  there  was  a 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  233 

sense  that  everything  was  alien.  Rowena  was  im 
patient  with  herself  that  it  was  so.  She  could 
not  understand  it  at  all. 

"  There's  somebody  comin'  down  the  road." 

Mr.  Little's  voice  brought  back  the  girl's  eyes 
from  the  fields  where  the  savins  were  growing 
and  where  the  clear  air  so  sharply  defined  the 
outlines. 

She  looked  down  the  road.  A  tall,  thin  figure 
with  a  plaid  shawl  round  it  and  a  cloud  on  its 
head  was  walking  rapidly. 

Rowena's  face  and  eyes  suffused.  Her  heart 
gave  a  great  bound. 

"  It's  mother !"  she  cried,  in  a  loud  whisper. 

She  began  to  climb  down  from  her  seat  before 
the  horse  stopped.  She  put  Marmaduke  on  the 
ground  and  began  to  run,  the  terrier  at  her  heels. 

Almost  in  a  moment  she  was  in  her  mother's 
arms.  Those  arms  closed  so  tightly,  so  tightly 
about  her. 

"  I  couldn't  help  comin'  to  meet  ye,"  said  Mrs. 
Tuttle,  huskily.  "  My  bread  was  almost  riz,  but 
I  couldn't  help  comin'. 


234  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 


XVI. 

SOMETHING   ON   HER  MIND. 

THE  girl  and  her  mother  hurried  towards  the 
house,  while  the  boat-wagon  rattled  slowly  home 
ward.  Marmaduke's  progress  was  very  deliber 
ate,  for  he  was  obliged  to  smell  of  every  shrub 
and  every  tuft  of  grass. 

Sometimes  a  bluebird  came  swooping  down 
close  to  the  two  women. 

The  frogs  were  "  hollering "  in  all  the  low 
places. 

"  You  see,  I've  got  to  git  right  back,"  said  Mrs. 
Tuttle,  gazing  in  an  almost  famished  way  at  her 
daughter.  "  My  bread  was  almost  riz,"  she  re 
peated  ;  "  but  I  thought  you  must  have  got  round 
Warner's  Corner,  and  I  couldn't  help  coming." 

She  put  one  hand  over  her  eyes  for  a  moment. 
Her  lips  trembled.  Now  that  Rowena  had  act 
ually  come,  she  could  hardly  struggle  against  the 
reaction  from  that  long  waiting  and  longing.  Her 
other  hand  clutched  tightly  that  of  the  girl. 

"  Oh,  mother,  it  was  wrong  of  me  to  go,  wasn't 
it?  Have  I  been  so  wicked?" 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  235 

Rowena's  breath  caught.  Her  words  roused 
Mrs.  Tuttle  as  nothing  else  would  have  done. 

"  It  wa'n't  wrong,  neither — not  an  atom,"  she 
exclaimed.  "  You  can't  expect  me  to  jest  love 
to  have  you  gone,  Roweny ;  but  I  guess  you've 
got  a  right  to  your  life  's  much  's  I  had  to  mine 
when  I  married  your  father  V  left  my  home.  I 
ain't  goin'  to  be  foolish  another  minute.  The 
children  are  all  to  school.  They've  missed  you 
a  lot.  Your  father  was  'bliged  to  go  to  the  Cor 
ners,  but  he  expected  to  be  back  by  this  time ; 
'n'  there  he  is  now." 

An  old  gray  horse  attached  to  an  ancient  cov 
ered  wagon,  of  the  kind  locally  called  "  bed 
rooms,"  was  now  seen  coming  from  the  opposite 
direction.  Mr.  Tuttle  bent  over  and  whipped  his 
horse,  which  gave  a  lurch  and  then  seemed  to  re 
trace  its  steps. 

Rowena  ran  forward.  Mr.  Tuttle  hurriedly 
stepped  on  top  of  the  wheel  and  jumped  to  the 
ground. 

"Well,  I  am  glad,"  he  said,  after  he  had  kissed 
her.  "  I  declare,  the  days  have  been  awful  long, 
Roweny.  How's  your  drorin'  ?" 

The  terrier  allowed  himself  to  be  greeted  warm 
ly.  It  was  plain  that  he  approved  of  this  part  of 
the  world ;  it  was  much  better  than  pavements 
and  city  streets.  He  followed  Rowena  as  she 
went  about  to  every  nook  and  corner  of  the 


236  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

house  and  barns.  She  strolled  up  the  lane.  Ap 
parently  the  same  woodpecker  was  pounding  on 
the  immense  old  chestnut- tree  that  stood  by 
the  bars  at  the  brook.  Absolutely  nothing  had 
changed,  and  yet — 

Rowena  did  not  know  what  it  was.  She  was 
so  glad,  so  very  glad  to  be  there.  She  knew  that 
if  she  had  returned  within  a  week  or  two  after 
she  had  left,  her  happiness  would  have  been 
greater.  She  did  not  understand  it  at  all.  Per 
haps  it  would  all  come  to  her  at  last ;  she  was 
waiting  for  absolutely  the  same  feeling.  There 
was  no  one  to  tell  her  that  absolutely  the  same 
feeling  would  never  come  to  her  again. 

Presently  she  heard  her  mother's  voice  calling 
to  her  from  the  back  door  of  the  barn. 

She  ate  a  lunch,  with  her  father  and  mother 
sitting  and  looking  at  her.  Their  faces  shone. 
They  tried  to  be  staid  and  calm. 

Rowena  was  "obliged  to  eat  before  supper-time, 
because  she  was  going  directly  to  see  Georgie 
Warner. 

"  It  does  seem  as  if  Georgie  had  something  on 
her  mind,"  Mrs.  Tuttle  had  just  said.  "  Tain't 
natural  for  a  girl  to  take  all  the  bitters  she's  taken 
without  havin'  some  appetite,  'less  there  was 
something  on  her  mind.  But  she  keeps  sayin' 
there  ain't." 

"  She  ought  to  know,"  remarked  Rowena,  try- 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  237 

ing  to  eat  a  seed-cake.  "  I'm  sure  I  should  know 
if  I  had  anything  on  my  mind,"  she  laughed. 
"  Who's  going  to  know,  if  you  don't  know  your 
self  ?  What  is  it  supposed  to  be?" 

"  I  guess  it  ain't  supposed,"  replied  Mrs.  Tut- 
tle,  giving  lavish  morsels  of  very  sweet  ginger 
bread  to  Marmaduke,  who  partook  approvingly. 
"  She's  had  to  git  a  substitoot  for  her  school. 
Jim  Townshend's  there  every  day.  It  can't  be 
no  trouble  about  him.  P'raps  she'll  tell  you 
something." 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Mr.  Tuttle,  in  his  usual  opti 
mistic  way,  "  I  guess  Gcorgie  '11  weather  it  fast 
enough.  I  s'pose  she's  got  kind  of  er  spring  fe 
ver  ;  'n'  mebby  her  humor's  workin'  some." 

Mrs.  Tuttle  shook  her  head. 

"  Hiram,  you  know  there  ain't  nobody  equil  to 
Mis'  Warner  for  doct'rin'  a  humor.  It's  mor'n  a 
humor." 

Very  soon  Rowena  was  hurrying  along  the  road 
alone.  She  could  hear  Marmaduke's  shrill  remon 
strance  against  being  left  behind.  As  she  walked 
through  the  pines  she  recalled  that  day  she  had 
walked  there  before  she  went  to  Boston.  How 
long  ago  was  that  ?  She  had  known  Miss  Phil- 
lipps  since  then — and  Mr.  Bradford.  She  walked 
still  faster. 

Eunice  was  lurking  among  the  pines  nearest 
her  home.  She  had  an  apron  pinned  over  her 


238  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

head,  and  the  long,  broad  strings  of  it  fluttered 
like  pennons  as  she  now  ran  forward. 

"  She's  expectin'  ye !"  she  shouted,  when  still 
at  some  distance.  "  She's  ben  cryin'.  She  cries 
a  lot.  She  cries  if  you  speak  to  her,  'n'  if  you 
don't.  'Tain't  very  pleasant  to  our  house  now." 

The  latter  sentences  were  spoken  after  the 
child  had  reached  Rowena  and  was  walking  by 
her,  holding  her  hand. 

Although  Georgie  was  so  impatient,  Eunice 
was  disposed  to  linger.  She  had  a  great  deal 
she  wished  to  say ;  she  wished  to  tell  Rowena, 
among  other  things,  what  Marthy  S.  had  been 
saying  about  her. 

But  Rowena  would  not  linger.  She  was  some 
what  excited  when  she  began  to  ascend  the  stairs 
that  led  to  the  chamber  where  Georgie  was.  She 
went  alone.  It  had  been  Georgie's  desire  that 
she  come  alone. 

She  stopped  an  instant  at  the  broad,  top  stair. 
Then  she  softly  opened  the  door. 

Georgie  was  dressed  in  a  pink  calico  wrapper. 
She  was  lying  on  a  lounge  that  was  drawn  to  the 
window.  There  was  a  small  air-tight  stove  in  the 
room,  and  the  air  was  close  and  warm. 

She  half  raised  herself  and  eagerly  held  out  her 
arms,  her  thin,  flushed  face  looking  strange  to  Ro 
wena,  who  had  never  seen  it  save  when  it  was 
plump  and  commonplace. 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  239 

The  new-comer  sat  quickly  down  on  the  side 
of  the  couch  and  encircled  her  friend  in  her  own 
arms,  putting  her  cool  face  to  the  hot,  weary  one. 

Georgie  began  to  tremble  and  to  sob. 

"  Don't  cry — don't  cry,"  murmured  Rowena, 
holding  the  trembling  form  more  closely. 

Her  presence  and  her  voice  appeared  to  soothe 
the  sick  girl.  She  became  more  quiet. 

"I  shall  take  you  out  in  our  old  'bedroom,'" 
said  Rowena,  after  a  while.  "  You  must  have  the 
air." 

Georgie  shuddered. 

"  I  don't  want  the  air,"  she  said,  with  her  head 
on  Rowena's  shoulder.  She  turned  her  face  into 
the  folds  of  Rowena's  shawl  and  cried  out  in  a 
fierce,  muffled  tone : 

"It's  her!  It's  her!  I  knew 'twould  be, 'n' 'tis  ! 
But  I  ain't  lisped  it  to  anybody  else.  I  couldn't !" 

The  other  girl  remained  silent  a  moment.  She 
was  trying  to  recall  a  name. 

"  Do  you  mean  Mary  Jane  Jewett  ?  The  one 
you  told  me  about?" 

A  kind  of  convulsion  shook  poor  Georgie  as 
she  heard. 

"  Yes,"  she  said.  "  He's  all  carried  away  with 
her.  And  he  wants  to  do  right.  He  suffers  aw 
ful.  'N' I  love  him  so  !  Oh,  dear  me  !" 

Georgie's  shoulders  heaved  ;  she  gasped  hys 
terically. 


240  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

"  But  everybody  says  Mr.  Townshend  is  per 
fectly  devoted  to  you,  Georgie ;  that  he  is  here 
every  day.  Aren't  you  mistaken?  Isn't  this  a 
notion  of  yours?" 

Georgie  lifted  her  head.  Her  eyes  were  dry 
and  staring. 

"  I  wish  'twas  a  notion.  But  'tain't.  I  guess  I 
know.  Yes,  he  is  here  every  day.  He's  tryin'  to 
do  right,  I  tell  ye.  'N'  I've  been  so  silly  I  jest  let 
him  come.  I  can't  give  him  up  !  I  can't !  I 
couldn't  tell  nobody.  It's  killin'  of  me?" 

Georgie  put  out  her  hot  hands  and  shut  them 
hard.  "  Oh,  how  I  hate  her !  Do  you  think  I 
c'n  let  her  have  him  ?  I  hate  her !  I  d'know 
but  I  could  try  to  give  him  up  if  it  wasn't  to 
her.  But  I  can't !  I  can't !" 

She  spoke  as  one  does  who  has  been  long  de 
nied  speech  on  a  certain  subject,  and  now  the 
words  came  in  torrents,  incoherent,  sometimes 
ambiguous,  running  into  each  other. 

"  She's  ben  after  him  agin.  She's  made  him 
believe  she  loves  him.  He  says  he  can't  seem 
to  help  himself;  he  says  he's  mad  for  her;  he 
says  it's  like  bein'  drunk.  But  he's  tryin'  to  do 
right." 

Thus,  after  her  wild  talk  had  calmed  a  little, 
there  seemed  nothing  for  Rowena  to  say.  She 
was  bewildered.  She  could  only  hold  her  friend 
closely  and  wait. 


ROWENY   IN    BOSTON.  241 

At  last  the  stream  of  words  ceased  entirely. 
Georgie  lay  still  on  Rowena's  shoulder.  She 
was  both  exhausted  and  relieved.  She  fell 
asleep. 

The  afternoon  was  almost  gone  when  Rowena 
had  come.  Now,  as  she  sat  there  motionless,  the 
sun  went  down  and  the  long  spring  twilight  be 
gan.  The  robins  sang  their  evening  song.  The 
sound  of  the  frogs  was  louder  than  ever.  She 
grew  stiff,  and  her  limbs  ached.  When  it  was 
very  dusky  in  the  room  the  door  opened  softly, 
and  Mrs.  Warner  looked  in.  Seeing  that  still 
group  she  noiselessly  closed  the  door  and  crept 
down  the  stairs. 

"  I  do  hope  Georgie's  goin'  to  be  better,"  she 
said  to  her  husband  as  she  stole  about  her  even 
ing  work.  "  She's  fast  asleep  with  her  head  on 
Roweny's  shoulder." 

"  I  do  hope  so,  too,"  was  the  response.  "  It's 
ben  mighty  hard  on  you.  Sh'll  I  bring  home 
some  herrin'  from  the  Corners  ?  I'm  goin'  to 
hitch  up  'n'  see  'bout  them  seed  p'taters." 

Eunice  and  her  mother  continued  to  creep 
about  the  lower  rooms  for  a  half  hour  longer. 

At  the  end  of  that  time  Rowena  came  down 
stairs  for  a  glass  of  fresh  water. 

Georgie  had  wakened.  She  wanted  Rowena 
to  stay  all  night  with  her.  Would  Eunice  go 
over  and  tell  Mrs.  Tuttle,  so  that  nobody  need 

16 


242  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

to  worry  ?  Whereupon  that  child  started  off  on 
a  run  to  do  her  errand. 

Mrs.  Warner  drew  a  bucket  of  water  from  the 
well.  As  she  dipped  a  tumbler  in  it  she  looked 
wistfully  at  the  girl  before  her. 

"  How  do  you  think  she  is,  Roweny  ?"  she 
asked,  in  a  whisper. 

"  I'm  too  ignorant  about  sickness,"  answered 
Rowena,  "  but  it  doesn't  seem  to  me  she  is  dan 
gerously  ill — and  yet  she  suffers." 

Mrs.  Warner  set  the  glass  by  the  sink  instead 
of  giving  it  to  her  companion.  There  was  in- 
tensest  curiosity  as  well  as  concern  in  her  face 
as  she  said,  in  a  still  lower  whisper, 

"  She's  got  something  on  her  mind,  ain't  she  ?" 

The  girl  hesitated.  She  resented  the  ques 
tion  ;  but  she  thought  she  must  give  some  an 
swer  to  Georgie's  mother. 

"  I'm  afraid  she  has,"  she  said. 

"  There !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Warner,  but  still 
whispering,  "  I  told  um  it  wa'n't  all  humor,  'n' 
'tain't.  Is  what  she's  got  on  her  mind  'bout 
Jim?" 

"You  must  ask  Georgie,  Mrs. Warner." 

The  woman  now  remarked  that  she  didn't  see 
how  under  the  canopy  it  could  be  about  Jim. 
Jim  was  the  best  fellow  in  the  world,  'n'  he'd 
ben  near  crazed  'cause  Georgie  was  sick.  She 
did  hope  Georgie  hadn't  got  any  other  feller  in 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  243 

her  mind,  looking  sharply  at  Rowena  as  she  said 
these  last  words.  The  girl  was  thankful  it  was  so 
dark.  She  hurried  back  up  the  steep  stairs  with 
the  water.  She  helped  Georgie  take  off  the  pink 
wrapper  and  prepare  for  bed.  She  found  her 
friend  to  be  pitiably  weak  and  full  of  fancies,  so 
different  from  the  sturdy,  commonplace  girl  she 
was  when  in  health. 

At  last  Rowena  lay  down  beside  her  and  held 
the  feverish  hands  closely.  She  was  surprised 
that  Georgie  soon  dropped  asleep. 

But  it  was  long  before  she  herself  could  sleep. 
Strange  thoughts  trooped  with  almost  painful 
vividness  through  her  mind.  Now  that  she  was 
alone  she  could  recall  the  face  and  voice  and 
manner  of  the  man  who  had  ridden  so  many 
miles  by  the  side  of  the  boat-cart  that  day.  She 
could  think  of  Miss  Phillipps. 

She  must  go  back  next  week.  She  must  not 
lose  too  much  time  before  the  long  summer  va 
cation,  when  her  lessons  would  cease  and  she 
would  be  at  home.  She  almost  dreaded  being 
at  home  so  long.  Where  would  Miss  Phillipps 
spend  the  Summer? 

Finally,  long  after  the  clock  down-stairs  had 
struck  twelve,  she  also  fell  asleep. 

She  was  awakened  while  it  was  still  dark  by 
a  spasmodic  clutch  around  her  neck,  and  by 
Georgie  whispering  shrilly: 


244  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  you  must  do — you  must 
see  her." 

Rowena  thought  at  first  that  her  friend  was 
dreaming.  She  tried  to  soothe  her. 

"  You  jest  promise  you'll  see  her — promise !" 
persisted  Georgie,  "  and  don't  you  let  no  mortal 
know  it." 

Rowena  hesitated.  She  could  guess  very  well 
what  person  she  was  to  see.  But  how  could  she 
do  it? 

"Ain't  you  goin'  to  promise?"  asked  Georgie. 
"  Don't  you  care  nothin'  'bout  me  ?  I've  ben  de- 
pendin'  on  ye.  I  thought  you  wouldn't  fail  me." 

The  girl's  chest  began  to  heave,  and  she  began 
to  tremble. 

"  I'll  see  her,"  said  Rowena. 

"  I  want  you  to  see  her  to-day — this  very  day." 

"  I'll  see  her  to-day — if  I  can  have  father's 
horse  and  wagon."1 

Georgie  stopped  trembling. 

Rowena  felt  herself  in  a  very  humiliating  po 
sition,  but  she  could  not  retreat. 

"  You  must  give  me  some  idea  of  what  I  am 
to  say  to  her.  If  she  is  what  you  think,  she  won't 
be  agreeable." 

Georgie  replied  in  rather  a  strong  voice : 

"  Tell  her,"  she  began,  "tell  her  I'm  dyin'— 

"  But  you  are  not." 

"  I  be,  too !     I  guess  I  know  when  I'm  dyin'. 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  245 

And  I  want  her  to  stop  tryin'  to  git  Jim  away 
from  me.  If  she  stops  her  nasty,  mean  tricks 
he'll  git  over  it.  I  know  he  will.  He  told  me 
solemnly  that  he  believed  I  was  the  best  girl, 
and  would  make  him  the  best  wife.  He  said 
he  wanted  to  throw  off  her  influence,  but  he 
couldn't  seem  to.  Jim's  real  good,  but  he  ain't 
got  so  much  resolution  's  some  folks  have ;  he 
ain't  to  blame  for  that." 

Rowena  was  silent  for  so  long  a  time  that  her 
companion  broke  forth  into  a  long-drawn  whine. 
Georgie  Warner  was  completely  unstrung  with 
the  nervous  strain  and  the  slow  fever  which  her 
lover's  conduct  had  induced.  She  had  also  learn 
ed  that  the  more  she  gave  way  the  greater  be 
came  the  facilities  for  giving  way.  She  had  dis 
covered  what  others  had  discovered  before  her, 
that  there  is  a  strange,  perverted  kind  of  enjoy 
ment  in  a  "fit  of  the  nerves."  She  was  really  ill ; 
but  not  nearly  so  ill  as  she  believed  herself  to  be. 

"What  you  so  still  for?"  she  asked,  in  her  sharp 
ly  feeble  voice. 

"Georgie,  don't  do  that  —  don't  do  it,"  ex 
claimed  Rowena,  earnestly.  u  Let  Jim  go,  if  he 
must.  You  can't  furnish  him  with  resolution. 
You'll  despise  yourself  if  you  try  to  keep  him 
that  way." 

"  Oh,  dear  me  !"  cried  Georgie.  "  You  said 
you'd  see  her!  You  said  you  would  !" 


246  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

"  I  will.     But  I'm  ashamed  to  do  it." 

Georgie  did  not  care;  if  her  errand  were  done, 
no  matter  what  the  cost  to  the  doer  of  it. 

She  now  began  to  hug  her  friend  and  to  weep 
softly.  Notwithstanding  this,  Rowena  could  not 
help  remaining  rather  cold  and  impassive. 

She  made  one  more  attempt  to  bring  her  friend 
to  reason.  She  tried  to  persuade  her  to  wait  un 
til  she  was  stronger,  when  she  might  look  at  the 
matter  differently.  At  this  Georgie  tossed  about 
violently,  and  protested  that  she  should  never  get 
stronger,  never,  until  Mary  Jane  Jewett  had  been 
seen  and  made  to  stop  her  nasty,  mean  tricks. 

Rowena  rose  and  dressed.  She  wanted  all  the 
time  she  could  have  to  herself  before  she  should 
seek  Miss  Jewett.  She  had  not  the  remotest 
idea  as  to  how  she  should  state  the  case. 

As  she  walked  along  the  solitary  road,  now 
flooded  with  the  level,  new  rays  of  the  sun,  she 
made  a  resolution  which  she  felt  was  rash.  She 
would  see  Mary  Jane  Jewett ;  but  she  would 
see  Jim  Townshend  first.  That  man's  winning 
face,  with  its  indeterminate  mouth  and  chin,  came 
very  strongly  before  her. 

When  she  came  within  sight  of  her  home  she 
saw  the  terrier  nosing  about  in  the  yard.  Her 
father  walked  across  to  the  barn,  a  milk-pail  in 
each  hand.  A  thick  smoke  was  going  straight 
up  from  the  immense  mouth  of  the  old  chimney. 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  247 

Now  Marmaduke  saw  her  and  raced  furiously 
towards  her.  She  caught  him  joyfully  in  her 
arms.  The  sight  of  him  rested  her;  and  his  pres 
ence  also  brought  pictures  of  her  Boston  iife.  Had 
she  really  lived  that  life,  and  known  Miss  Phil- 
lipps  and — Mr.  Bradford  ?  How  very  odd  it  was 
that  Mr.  Bradford  should  have  happened  to  come 
out  with  her  yesterday  !  She  remembered  now 
that  she  had  not  mentioned  this  fact,  even  to  her 
mother.  Was  it  because  she  had  forgotten  it? 
Doubtless  he  was  already  starting  back  to  Bos 
ton.  It  was  pleasant  to  know  him,  he  was  so 
much  like  his  cousin  in  many  ways. 

At  breakfast  Rowena  announced  that  she  had 
an  errand  to  do  for  Georgie.  She  should  need 
the  horse  perhaps  all  the  forenoon. 

Mrs.  Tuttle  inquired  with  the  keenest  curiosity 
if  Rowena  thought  Georgie  Warner  had  anything 
on  her  mind.  She  said  she  was  sure  she  didn't 
know  why  it  had  got  round  so  that  Georgie  had 
something  on  her  mind,  when  Jim  Townshend 
was  so  attentive.  It  was  perfectly  evident  that 
it  was  not  thought  for  a  moment  that  a  young 
woman  could  have  anything  on  her  mind  unless 
this  thing  were  connected  with  some  past  or 
present  or  possible  lover.  Rowena  replied  that 
she  thought  Georgie  was  rather  worried  about 
some  matters.  Mrs.  Tuttle  knew  her  daughter's 
face  too  well  to  press  her  question. 


248  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

Rowena  took  her  place  on  the  narrow  seat  in 
the  covered  wagon.  She  gathered  up  the  worn 
leather  lines,  and  the  old  gray  horse  walked  out 
of  the  yard.  At  this  moment  it  seemed  to  her 
as  if  she  had  never  been  away.  As  she  turned 
the  corner  on  the  road  that  led  towards  Middle 
Village,  and  by  the  Townshend  farm,  she  won 
dered  if  Mr.  Bradford  would  really  call  on  his 
way  to  Boston.  Perhaps  she  ought  to  have 
warned  her  mother  of  the  possibility  of  such  a 
call.  Then  she  forgot  Mr.  Bradford,  and,  for  the 
moment,  her  disagreeable  errand,  in  the  beauty 
of  the  hills  and  vales  before  her.  Their  loveli 
ness  penetrated  with  a  subtle  exhilaration. 

The  horse  walked  on  unheeded.  The  girl's 
eyes  and  soul  drank  in  the  enchanting  vistas 
where  tints  of  green  and  gray,  and  all  the  colors 
of  unfolding  leaves,  stretched  away  in  every  di 
rection. 

"  Oh  !"  she  murmured,  in  a  kind  of  ecstasy,  "  I 
can  paint  all  this !  I  must !  I  will !" 

She  forgot  where  she  was  going.  When  the 
horse  stopped  to  bite  off  the  top  leaves  from  a 
scrub-oak  she  did  not  notice.  She  was  leaning 
forward  ;  she  was  setting  up  her  palette ;  the 
canvas  was  before  her.  The  high  light  should 
come  just  there,  then  the  shadows. 

The  horse  did  not  care  where  the  high  light 
would  come.  There  were  some  tender  leaves 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  249 

just  over  the  wall.  He  pulled  forward  to  reach 
them.  The  two  right  wheels  of  the  "  bedroom  " 
lurched  and  strained,  and  finally  rose  up  on  some 
large  stones.  It  was  too  much  for  the  ancient 
axle.  It  snapped  ;  so  did  something  in  the  front 
wheel.  Then  the  front  wheel  collapsed,  and  Ro- 
wena  stopped  thinking  about  how  she  would 
paint  the  scene  before  her.  She  slipped  down 
from  her  seat  onto  the  ground.  As  soon  as  she 
could  she  hurried  to  the  horse's  head,  fearing  he 
might  have  a  fancy  to  go  on.  She  had  forgotten 
that  the  gray  never  had  a  fancy  to  go  on.  He 
looked  round  benignly  at  her  and  continued  to 
eat  twigs. 


250  ROWENY   IN   BOSTON. 


XVII. 

THE  EPISODE   OF  MARY  JANE  JEWETT. 

THE  girl  and  the  horse  and  wagon  were  on  a 
hill  nearly  two  miles  from  any  house.  It  was 
not  a  convenient  place  for  a  wheel  to  collapse. 
It  was  hardly  a  convenient  place  for  anything, 
save  fresh  air  and  scenery. 

Having  recalled  the  fact  that  the  horse  would 
be  the  last  to  make  any  kind  of  a  movement, 
Rowena  stopped  holding  his  bridle  and  stumbled 
back  over  the  stones  to  the  road. 

She  sat  down  on  a  rock  to  think  for  a  few 
moments.  The  road  was  not  much  travelled ; 
she  might  wait  there  for  half  a  day  before  any 
one  came.  But  it  was  a  very  lovely  place.  Be 
fore  she  knew  it  her  artist  eyes  were  again  ab 
sorbed  in  gazing.  She  made  an  effort  and  roused 
herself.  She  walked  round  the  turnout.  She 
wished  Marmaduke  were  with  her.  Things  were 
always  so  much  more  cheerful  where  Marmaduke 
was.  It  was  very  vexatious.  There  was  nothing 
for  it  but  to  go  back  home.  She  had  ridden 
bareback  as  a  child,  but  later  she  had  an  old 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  251 

side-saddle.  She  must  try  bareback  again.  She 
went  up  a  few  rods  to  the  very  summit  of  the 
hill.  She  looked  both  ways  along  the  road.  It 
wound  on  beneath  the  clear  blue  of  the  sky. 
Nobody  was  in  sight. 

"Yes,"  said  Rowena,  aloud,  "I  shall  have  to 
ride  the  old  gray  home." 

Instead  of  unharnessing  the  animal  directly, 
however,  she  fell  again  to  gazing  about  her.  She 
had  been  shut  up  in  Boston  for  so  long  she  had 
half  forgotten  the  vigorous,  bounding  sweep  of 
the  country. 

Finally  she  began  to  take  the  tugs  from  the 
whiffletree.  It  was  hard  work  to  pull  them  from 
the  hooks  in  the  position  now  occupied  by  the 
wagon. 

Rowena's  hat  fell  off,  and  she  began  to  grow 
red  and  to  pant. 

She  did  not  see  a  narrow,  dingy-top  buggy 
reach  the  brow  of  the  hill  and  then  come  slowly 
towards  her.  The  buggy  stopped,  and  the  horse 
attached  reached  its  head  far  out  and  tossed  it 
up  and  down,  trying  to  get  at  the  road-side  grass. 

"  I  guess  something's  happened  to  your  ex. 
ain't  there  ?"  asked  a  voice. 

Rowena  stopped  pulling  on  the  strap  so  sud 
denly  that  she  nearly  fell  over. 

The  occupant  of  the  buggy  got  lightly  out  of 
it  and  walked  to  the  other  side  of  the  old  gray. 


2$2  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

"Let's  get  this  tug  out  first,  and  then  the  oth 
er  '11  have  a  chance  to  give  a  little,"  she  said. 

This  person  was  a  young  woman,  rather  large 
and  rather  plump.  She  had  a  somewhat  coarse- 
featured,  handsome  face,  with  immense  black 
eyes  under  heavy  brows.  She  spoke  in  a  good- 
humored  voice,  and  she  put  her  red,  strong  hands 
very  effectively  upon  the  strap  and  unfastened  it 
from  the  whiffletree.  She  had  judged  rightly. 
Rowena  was  now  enabled  to  release  the  tug  on 
her  side.  The  two  girls  worked  together  until 
the  horse  was  free  and  Rowena  had  led  him  out 
into  the  middle  of  the  road. 

"  I  guess  that  wagon  ain't  wuth  mendin',  is  it?" 
asked  the  stranger;  then  she  said,  more  quickly, 
"  Why,  it's  the  old  gray  Tuttle  hoss,  ain't  it  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Rowena. 

The  girl  looked  full  at  Rowena  an  instant  now. 
She  smiled,  showing  white,  even  teeth. 

"  Then  you  must  be  Rovveny  Tuttle." 

"  Yes,  I  am.  And  you  are  Mary  Jane  Jewett, 
aren't  you  ?" 

"  Of  course.  But  how'd  you  come  to  know 
me,  I  sh'd  like  to  know?" 

She  was  evidently  much  interested  in  this  girl, 
who  would  go  to  Boston  to  learn  to  paint  when 
she  might  have  received  instruction  of  a  woman 
who  came  to  Middle  Village  for  the  express  pur 
pose  of  giving  lessons. 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  253 

"I've  seen  you  once  at  an  evening  meeting," 
said  Rowena,  rather  stiffly,  "  and  I  saw  you  at 
a  picnic  last  summer  with  James  Townshend." 

Miss  Jewett  laughed. 

"Yes,  I've  been  round  with  Jim  consid'able. 
I  c'n  generally  find  some  feller  to  go  round  with 
me.  Hadn't  you  better  git  right  in  'n'  lemme 
take  you  home  ?  You  c'n  hitch  the  hoss  on 
behind.  'Twon't  be  no  trouble  to  me;  not  a 
speck." 

Miss  Jewett  had  looked  Rowena  over.  As 
she  spoke  she  had  decided  to  ask  her  for  a  pat 
tern  of  her  dress.  She  did  not  know  what  there 
was  about  it,  but  it  just  suited  her.  She  didn't 
believe  Martha  S.  cut  it,  "  never  in  the  world." 

Rowena  stood  for  a  moment 'leaning  against 
her  horse.  She  asked  herself  if  Providence  were 
not  aiding  her  to  an  interview  with  Mary  Jane 
Jewett.  She  must  go  with  her.  She  cast  a  side- 
glance  at  the  girl  as  she  stood  there  waiting. 
There  was  something  in  that  personality  so  thor 
oughly  antagonistic  to  her  that  Rowena's  anger 
rose  high  against  Georgie  Warner  for  having 
placed  her  in  such  a  position. 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  said  Rowena,  even  more 
stiffly  than  she  had  yet  spoken.  "  I  shall  be  glad 
to  go  with  you." 

She  tied  the  gray  horse  by  a  rein  to  the  axle 
of  the  buggy  behind.  She  stepped  up  and  sat 


254  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

down  on  the  seat.  As  Miss  Jewett  put  her  foot 
on  the  step  she  gave  a  short  laugh  and  said  that 
she  had  seen  folks  before  that  had  swallowed 
ramrods  and  had  um  stick  in  their  backs. 

Miss  Jewett  had  felt  very  kindly  and  very  help 
ful  when  she  had  arrived  upon  the  scene.  She 
had  been  favorably  impressed  also  by  Hiram  Tut- 
tle's  daughter.  She  resented  Rowena's  manner. 
Rowena  knew  it,  and  thought  she  did  not  have 
it  in  her  power  to  try  to  conciliate  her  com 
panion. 

The  two  drove  on  in  silence.  Suddenly  the 
silence  was  broken  by  Rowena's  saying,  desper 
ately, 

"  I  was  on  my  way  to  see  you." 

Miss  Jewett  stared. 

"The  land!"  she  cried.  "You  don't  mean  it! 
Well,  I  am  beat." 

"Yes,"  went  on  Rowena,  hurriedly,  "I  wanted 
to  see  you  about — about  Georgie  Warner." 

Rowena  blushed  uncomfortably  as  she  said 
this.  She  added  that  Georgie  was  a  dear  friend 
of  hers. 

Mary  Jane  Jewett  had  turned,  and  was  looking 
squarely  and  unblinkingly  at  the  speaker.  There 
was  a  hint  of  a  smile  on  the  large  mouth,  and  a 
malicious  amusement  in  the  black  eyes. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "  I'm  a  listenin'." 

"  Mr.  Townshend  is  engaged  to  Georgie,"  said 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  255 

Rowena,  now  beginning  to  feel  so  actively  hostile 
that  she  was  ready  to  fight. 

"I  want  to  know!"  responded  Miss  Jewett. 
"Is  she  a  holdin'  on  to  him  yet?  I  guess  she 
finds  him  kinder  slippery,  don't  she?" 

Rowena  turned  savagely  upon  the  other.  Her 
eyes  burned  ;  her  voice  trembled  with  fury. 

"  Do  you  think  it  honorable  to  try  to  get  a 
poor  sick  girl's  lover  away  from  her?" 

"  It  don't  take  much  tryin',  you'd  better  be 
lieve,"  was  the  answer. 

"  But  you  do  try.  If  you  hadn't  tried  he 
wouldn't  have  gone  back  to  you  again.  You 
know  that.  It  isn't  fair.  It's  mean  ;  and  she  ill 
and  half  crazed  just  with  this  trouble  about  him. 
And  she  loves  him  so  !" 

Rowena  paused,  nearly  breathless.  She  did  not 
know  why  the  vivid  picture  of  Georgie  lying  in 
that  little,  close  room  all  at  once  removed  all  her 
anger.  With  one  of  the  sudden  transitions  which 
were  characteristic  of  her  she  bent  near  the  girl 
beside  her.  She  put  her  bare  hand  on  the  bare 
hands  that  were  holding  the  lines. 

"  Don't  do  it !  Don't  do  it !"  she  said,  so  soft 
ly  and  pleadingly  that  Miss  Jewett,  who  had  been 
"  real  mad,"  as  she  would  have  said,  a  moment 
ago,  was  now  conscious  of  an  unaccountable  re 
vulsion  of  feeling. 

Rowena's  hand  pressed  upon  hers.      Perhaps 


256  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

Miss  Phillipps  could  have  analyzed  what  there 
was  in  Rowena's  touch,  and  often  in  her  glance, 
that  so  won  upon  people.  Whatever  it  was  it 
had  its  effect  now. 

Miss  Jewett  met  Rowena's  eyes.  Her  face 
changed. 

"  I  declare,"  she  cried  ;  "  what  makes  you  care 
so  much?  I  shouldn't  think  she'd  care  neither 
for  a  fellew  that  was  bewitched  with  somebody 
else.  'N'  Jim  is  jest  bewitched  'bout  me,  'n' 
that's  a  fact." 

The  girl  laughed,  but  not  too  triumphantly. 

She  withdrew  one  hand  and  placed  it  on  Ro 
wena's  with  a  strong  pressure. 

"  You  wouldn't  want  to  keep  a  beau  that  way, 
would  ye,  now  ?"  she  asked. 

Rowena  recoiled. 

"  No,"  she  said  ;  "  but  Georgie  is  ill  and  weak, 
and  so  unhappy.  Do  you  care  for  him  ?" 

"  Oh,  land,  no  ;  not  particular,  you  know.  It's 
amusin',  though,  to  keep  him  on.  'N'  I  like  him 
first-rate.  Is  she  really  sick?"  with  interest. 

"Yes,  really." 

Miss  Jewett  laughed  again. 

"  Odd,  ain't  it,  that  any  one  should  git  real 
sick  about  Jim  Townshend  ?  There  ain't  a  man 
on  the  face  of  the  earth  wuth  gettin' sick  about." 

The  idea  seemed  to  amuse  Miss  Jewett  great 
ly.  She  shook  her  broad  shoulders  and  broke 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  257 

into  a  loud  laugh.  Then  she  said,  apologetically, 
that  "  she  was  laughin'  at  what  she  was  thinkin' 
on." 

Nothing  at  this  juncture  occurring  to  Rowena 
to  say,  she  said  nothing.  She  knew  that  she 
could  do  very  little  more.  She  began  to  wonder 
why  her  companion  continued  to  laugh.  She 
was  not  quite  so  disagreeable  now  as  she  had 
been  at  first. 

"  I  s'pose  Jim's  hangin'  round  there,  ain't  he?" 

"Yes." 

"  I  thought 's  likely  's  not.  He's  hangin'  round 
me,  too.  Betwixt  Miss  Warner  'n'  me  it's  a  won 
der  how  he  gits  a  chance  to  do  his  work,  ain't 
it?" 

More  laughter. 

At  last  Mary  Jane  became  somewhat  com 
posed.  She  turned  round  on  the  circumscribed 
buggy  seat  that  she  might  face  Rowena. 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  there  is  about 
you,  Miss  Tuttle,"  she  began,  with  broad  frank 
ness,  "  but  I  was  mad  'nough  a  few  minutes  ago 
to  throw  you  out  of  the  buggy,  'n'  now  I  ain't 
mad  a  bit.  I  kinder  like  you.  'N'  I  wish  I  knew 
how  you  git  such  a  fit  on  your  dress.  Have  you 
got  a  pattern  ?" 

She  seemed  disappointed  when  she  learned 
there  was  no  pattern. 

Rowena  was  now  very  much  depressed.  She 
17 


258  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

felt  that  she  had  accomplished  nothing  ;  and  still 
there  was  hope  lurking  in  her  heart. 

Miss  Jewett  spent  a  short  time  in  urging  the 
horse  and  remonstrating  with  it,  with  no  effect 
whatever.  Then  she  sat  back. 

"  Now  I'm  goin'  to  tell  ye  something;  it's  a 
secret.  I  ain't  even  told  mar  yet.  It's  some 
thing  Georgie  Warner  '11  give  her  ears  to  hear. 
You  may  tell  her,  but  you  needn't  lisp  it  to  an 
other  soul.  Promise  me  you  won't." 

"  No,  I  won't." 

"  Well,  then,  I'm  ingaged." 

"Oh!" 

Rowena  could  say  no  more.  She  felt  a  great 
load  lifted  from  her  heart.  She  already  pictured 
herself  as  giving  the  good  news  to  Georgie. 

"  I  s'pose  you  don't  know  him.  It's  Charley 
Simmons.  He's  got  er  place  in  a  grocery  store 
in  Borston,  V  we  expect  to  be  married  in  the 
fall,  V  I  sh'll  live  in  Borston!  Mebby  it'll  be 
near  you." 

The  glow  of  exultation  and  satisfaction  on 
Miss  Jewett's  face  was  superlative. 

"Will  you  tell  Mr.  Townshend?" 

"Won't  he  be  cut  up,  though ?"  responded  Miss 
Jewett. 

"Will  you  tell  him?"  persisted  Rowena,  almost 
feverishly. 

"  Oh  yes  ;  of  course  I  will." 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  259 

"  The  first  time  you  see  him  ?" 

"  How  you  go  on  !  Yes,  I  will.  That's  a  prom 
ise  ;  'n'  I'll  keep  it,  too.  But  there  couldn't  any 
body  else  have  made  me  do  it,  I  tell  you." 

"  Thank  you — thank  you,  so  much  !"  said  Ro- 
wena,  warmly. 

"  Mebby  you'll  jest  kiss  me  for  that,"  said  Miss 
Jewett,  almost  shyly,  and  coloring  faintly  as  she 
spoke. 

"Now  we're  real  friendly,  ain't  we?"  she  re 
marked,  after  the  kiss  had  been  given.  "  You 
jest  tell  Georgie  Warner  I  wouldn't  have  done  it 
for  anybody  but  you.  She's  a  bright  one  to  send 
you." 

Miss  Jewett  went  on  talking  in  the  same  start- 
lingly  frank  manner.  She  was  telling  some  pe 
culiarities  of  an  admirer  who  had  threatened  to 
kill  himself  unless  she  "  had  him,"  when  she  in 
terrupted  her  recital  to  exclaim  : 

"Mercy!  Who  is  that,  anyway?  Ain't  he 
jest  got  up  fit  to  kill,  and  no  mistake  ?  Did  you 
ever  see  anything  beat  that  little  dorg  he's 
got?" 

Coming  slowly  up  the  hill  down  which  Miss 
Jewett's  horse  was  walking,  with  the  old  gray 
stumbling  behind,  was  a  man  on  horseback.  Of 
course,  it  was  Keats  Bradford.  Sitting  quite 
calmly  in  front  of  him,  just  as  if  one  hind  leg 
were  not  held  lest  he  might  fall,  was  Marma- 


260  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

duke,  surveying  the  landscape  with  approving 
eyes. 

Mr.  Bradford  was  not  looking  to  find  Rowena 
in  this  buggy  with  a  companion.  He  was  in  pur 
suit  of  the  covered  wagon  and  the  gray  horse. 
He  was  very  near  the  two  before  he  looked  at 
them  with  any  interest.  Then  his  face  lightened 
brilliantly.  He  stopped  his  horse  and,  lifting  his 
cap,  said : 

"  Miss  Tuttle,  Marmaduke  knew  you  before  I 
did.  Will  you  have  him  ?  He  was  happy  with 
me  until  he  saw  you." 

The  terrier  was  wriggling  with  joy.  With  very 
small  aid  he  leaped  from  the  saddle  into  Rowe- 
na's  arms. 

Miss  Jewett  was  staring  with  undisguised  in 
terest  and  admiration.  She  was  absolutely  sure 
that  she  had  never  seen  leather  leggings  like  these 
now  before  her.  Her  never-sleeping  instinct  of 
coquetry  became  instantly  active.  Her  opinion 
of  Rowena  rose  still  higher.  She  could  not  help 
respecting  a  girl  who  knew  a  man  who  had  such 
leggings,  who  had  a  glass  in  his  eye,  or  rather 
dangling  from  a  cord,  and  who  could  take  off  his 
cap  with  such  a  manner  as  that.  This  was  no 
common  beau.  Charley  Simmons  seemed,  for  the 
moment,  to  recede  very  far  into  the  background. 

Bradford  had  turned  his  horse,  and  the  animal 
was  now  walking  by  the  side  of  the  carriage. 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  261 

"  I  called  at  your  home,  Miss  Tuttle,"  he  said. 
"  Your  mother  told  me  in  which  direction  you 
had  gone.  Marmaduke  was  frantic  to  come  with 
me.  If  we  intrude,  send  us  away." 

The  young  man's  face  was  radiant.  There  was 
no  more  any  languor  on  it.  He  had  gone  to  sleep 
the  night  before  with  the  resolution  to  see  Miss 
Tuttle  at  every  possible  moment.  The  carrying 
out  of  this  resolution  was  already  as  full  of  en 
joyment  as  he  had  anticipated  it  would  be.  He 
now  looked  down  at  the  girl  with  a  reckless 
pleasure  in  his  eyes.  He  felt  that  he  would  not 
deny  himself  a  single  glance. 

Miss  Jewett's  shrewd  observation  was  upon 
him.  She  was  fully  capable  of  interpreting  the 
expression  on  the  man's  face. 

She  changed  her  mind  about  exercising  any 
of  her  arts  upon  him.  She  did  not  wish  to  waste 
any  ammunition.  But  she  pushed  a  powerful  el 
bow  against  Rowena,  and  whispered  : 

"  Do  introduce  him  !" 

Rowena  obeyed.  Bradford  could  be  polite, 
but  he  thought  it  was  time  lost  to  look  long  at 
any  other  face  when  he  might  see  Rowena.  He 
was  gratefully  aware  that  his  cousin  Vanessa  was 
a  good  many  miles  away,  and  that  she  did  not 
know  where  he  was  at  this  moment. 

He  did  not  know  that  she  had  the  slightest 
influence  upon  him,  but  he  did  know  that  she 


262  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

knew  him  almost  as  well  as  he  knew  himself. 
And  there  are  occasions  in  life  when  the  absence 
of  such  a  person  is  desirable. 

There  was  a  bitterness  in  his  thoughts  of  his 
cousin  that  was  very  like  the  bitterness  of  jeal 
ousy.  Later,  he  acted  under  a  different  feeling. 

Perhaps  this  was  the  first  time  that  Mary  Jane 
Jewett  had,  since  she  was  grown,  been  in  the 
company  of  a  gentleman  and  not  been  first  in 
his  eyes.  She  was  one  of  those  women  who 
seem  to  change  in  manner  and  looks  the  mo 
ment  a  man  appears.  But  now  she  came  nearer 
effacing  herself  than  she  had  ever  come  before. 
She  watched  the  two ;  she  had  a  sharp  curiosity 
to  know  Rowena's  attitude  towards  this  man,  and 
she  was  wise  in  such  matters.  But  she  could 
not  decide.  The  girl  was  unaffectedly  glad  to 
see  Mr.  Bradford  ;  her  eyes  shone  at  him  ;  some 
times  she  blushed  beneath  his  look.  She  laugh 
ed  gayly ;  she  talked  with  a  naive  freedom  ;  or 
she  was  sometimes  silent. 

"Well,  I  am  beat,"  said  Miss  Jewett  more  than 
once  to  herself  during  the  next  quarter  of  an 
hour. 

When  she  parted  from  the  two  at  a  corner 
near  the  Tuttle  place  she  sat  a  moment  watching 
them. 

Bradford  was  leading  his  horse  and  the  old 
gray.  He  was  walking  between  the  two  ani- 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  263 

mals.  Rowena  and  the  terrier  were  strolling 
behind. 

Rowena  turned  and  waved  her  hand.  She 
cried  out,  joyously, 

11 1  shall  go  right  and  tell  Georgie !" 

"  Go  ahead  !"  shouted  Miss  Jewett.  "  I'll  keep 
my  promise." 

And  now  she  saw  Rowena  hurry  forward.  She 
left  Bradford  far  behind,  the  dog  caracoling  about 
her. 

Mary  Jane  Jewett,  as  she  went  on  her  way, 
told  herself  that  this  was  the  first  girl  she  had 
ever  seen  that  wa'n't  as  flat  as  dish-water.  Girls 
was  usually  so  uninterestin'  it  wa'n't  no  use 
spendin'  time  with  um.  It  wa'n't  'cause  that 
Tuttle  girl  had  said  anything  bright,  either ;  she 
didn't  know  what  'twas. 

Keats  Bradford  did  not  know  what  it  was, 
either,  and  he  was  not  in  the  mood  to  analyze. 
He  remained  most  fully  in  the  mood  to  let  him 
self  go. 

He  put  up  the  old  gray  in  the  barn  and  hitched 
his  own  horse,  while  Rowena  hastened  over  to 
Georgie  Warner's  with  her  good  news.  She 
would  not  let  him  go  with  her.  He  went  in  the 
house  and  sat  in  the  kitchen,  while  Mrs.  Tuttle 
was  frying  doughnuts.  He  successfully  concealed 
his  great  surprise  when  he  discovered  that  Mrs. 
Tuttle  called  these  fried  cakes  "  sim-balls."  He 


264  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

had  never  heard  that  word  before,  and  it  affected 
him  almost  to  the  verge  of  hysteria.  He  ate  a 
sim-ball  and  was  able  to  thank  the  giver  of  it. 
When  Rowena  returned  she  also  ate  a  doughnut. 
While  partaking  of  this  lunch  she  asked  Mr. 
Bradford  what  her  mother  had  called  this  food, 
putting  the  question  as  simply  as  a  child  would 
have  done. 

When  he  had  gravely  replied,  she  looked  at 
her  mother  fondly  as  she  said  : 

"  I've  been  trying  to  teach  mother  not  to  call 
these  cakes  that  way.  There's  something  so  ri 
diculous  in  that  word,  don't  you  think?  There 
was  a  piece  in  our  old  reading-book  which  we 
children  always  thought  meant  doughnuts.  I 
shall  never  forget  when  Georgie  Warner  stood 
up  one  examination  day  and  began,  'Heaven 
hung  no  symbol  there.'  She  said  sim-ball.  I've 
always  believed  that  the  committeemen  didn't 
know  the  difference.  We  don't  know  as  much 
in  this  deestrict  as  we  do  in  Borston,  Mr.  Brad 
ford." 

Her  eyes  sparkled  as  she  looked  at  Bradford. 
He  felt  a  most  idiotic  gladness  that  he  had  al 
ready  eaten  two  sim-balls. 

Perhaps  you  do  not  believe  that  a  man  who 
was  born  and  reared  in  Boston,  who  has  spent 
more  than  a  year  in  London,  don't  you  know ; 
who  tries  to  wear  a  monocle,  and  who  says  "  weal- 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  265 

ly,"  could  be  as  much  in  love  as  another  man 
without  such  advantages. 

But  Keats  Bradford  was  capable  of  being  ex 
tremely  in  love.  At  this  present  time  he  is  liv 
ing  most  thoroughly  up  to  his  capabilities.  He 
has  reached  that  stage  when  he  acknowledges 
this  to  be  the  truth. 


266  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 


XVIII. 

ON     LOVE. 

WHEN  a  Boston  Brahmin  falls  in  love  the 
spectacle  presented  to  the  outer  world  must  be 
very  impressive. 

Keats  Bradford,  however,  was  not  thinking  at 
all  of  the  spectacle  he  presented.  It  did  not 
seem  to  him  that  he  was  thinking  anything ;  he 
was  only  feeling.  But  he  was  man  of  the  world 
enough  to  be  able  to  offer  a  sane  front  to  people 
whom  he  met. 

He  had  to  go  back  to  Boston  on  the  third  day 
after  his  arrival  in  Middle  Village.  He  was  now 
capable  of  the  bravado  of  calling  upon  his  cousin 
Vanessa.  She  was  not  alone.  There  was  with 
her  a  gentleman  of  imposing  appearance,  and 
large,  clean-shaven  face.  He  was  introduced  as 
Professor  Vacci,  the  great  hypnotist.  He  seemed 
hardly  to  sec  Mr.  Bradford,  save  in  the  general, 
comprehensive  view  which  took  him  in  as  a  speck 
in  the  field  of  vision. 

Incidentally,  there  was  present  also  Madame 
Vacci,  the  professor's  wife,  and  she  appeared  to 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  267 

be  a  still  smaller  speck  in  the  outlook  taken  by 
her  husband. 

The  two  guests  were  standing,  and  apparently 
about  to  go.  Miss  Phillipps  was  greatly  inter 
ested  in  what  had  been  said.  Her  face  was  vivid 
ly  animated. 

When  her  guests  had  departed  she  turned  to 
her  cousin. 

"  Keats,  you  ought  to  have  been  here.  The 
professor  was  superb.  You  should  have  seen  the 
sudden  and  wonderfully  complete  way  in  which 
he  gained  control  of  his  wife." 

"  Oh,  I  can  believe  that  easily  enough." 

"  Don't  scoff.  I  do  hate  to  have  any  one  scoff 
in  the  presence  of  science." 

"I  came  not  here  to  scoff,"  said  the  young 
man,  sitting  down  and  taking  up  a  book.  "  Nev 
ertheless,  I  would  challenge  that  man  to  hypno 
tize  me  or  you." 

Miss  Phillipps  was  walking  back  and  forth  in 
the  room.  She  was  absorbed.  Mr.  Bradford 
presently  looked  at  his  watch. 

He  had  an  hour  to  spare  before  he  need  go  to 
his  rooms  preparatory  to  returning  to  Middle 
Village  that  afternoon. 

He  laid  down  his  book. 

"  I  am  going  to  wait  here  sixty  minutes,  Va 
nessa,"  he  said.  "  If  you  '  come  to  '  before  the 
end  of  that  time  I  shall  be  very  glad." 


268  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

He  crossed  his  legs.  His  attitude  was  very 
calm.  Nevertheless  there  was  a  life  and  excite 
ment  in  his  face  that  made  it  possible  that  he 
might  say  some  very  strange  things. 

Miss  Phillipps  continued  to  walk. 

"You  know  I've  never  really  looked  into  this  ; 
it  is  a  vast  subject.  This  and  telepathy  appear 
to  me  kindred ;  I  have  an  idea — but  I  cannot 
give  the  thing  real  attention  until  after  the  the- 
osophy  session.  You  know  Mrs.  Besant  is  com 
ing.  I  am  going  to  preside  at  one  of  the  meet 
ings;  I  want  to  make  a  little  speech.  I  want 
that  bold  spirit  to  be  welcomed  properly.  We 
Boston  women  owe  her  a  great  deal.  You  heard 
her  in  London,  didn't  you,  Keats?" 

"Yes." 

Miss  Phillipps  casually  looked  at  her  cousin  as 
she  asked  this  question.  The  casual  look  was  ar 
rested  and  changed  from  vagueness  to  keenness. 
She  stood  still  in  front  of  him. 

"  Where  have  you  been  ?  What  has  happened 
to  you  ?"  she  asked,  imperatively. 

"  So  glad  you  have  '  come  to,'  "  said  Bradford. 

He  rose  also.  He  stood  up  before  her.  He 
was  smiling  absently. 

She  took  him  by  the  arm  and  turned  him  more 
towards  the  light,  scrutinizing  him  in  silence. 

"  Does  any  one  of  your  sciences  tell  what  has 
happened  to  me?"  he  inquired. 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  269 

"  I  know  you  rather  well,  Keats,"  she  said,  still 
keeping  her  hand  on  his  arm,  and  her  eyes  upon 
him.  "  I  think,  yes,  I  am  almost  positive,  that 
you  are  in  love.  Are  you  ?"  Now  looking  at 
him  in  a  wondering  way,  as  if  he  were  under  the 
dominion  of  some  miraculous  power  which  she 
had  not  yet  thorougly  studied  and  classified. 

The  man  moved  suddenly  away,  and  in  his 
turn  began  walking  back  and  forth. 

"  I  want  you  to  do  me  a  great  favor,  Vanessa/' 
he  said,  earnestly. 

"  Haven't  I  always  been  willing  to  do  you  fa 
vors  ?'' 

"Yes,  yes.  I  don't  think  you'll  find  this  very 
difficult." 

Still  he  hesitated.  He  could  not  quite  define 
the  expression  in  his  cousin's  face. 

"I  am  waiting." 

"  Do  you  think  Miss  Tuttle  ought  to  live  in  that 
Hudson  Street  place?"  suddenly  asked  Bradford. 

"Miss  Tuttle?     Oh!" 

There  was  so  much  meaning  in  that  exclama 
tion  that  the  young  man  reddened  slightly. 

"  I  cannot  prevent  her  living  there,"  remarked 
Miss  Phillipps.  "  She  is  a  proud  girl.  I  cannot 
say  to  her,  '  Let  me  support  you  in  some  more 
fitting  locality.'  " 

There  was  an  accuracy  about  this  utterance 
that  almost  made  it  sound  cold. 


270  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

"  I  don't  expect  you  to  say  that,"  said  the  man. 
"  I  only  wanted  to  suggest  that  you  invite  her 
here  for  a  visit.  I  dislike  to  think  of  her  on  Hud 
son  Street.  She  is  coming  back.  She  is  going  to 
keep  on  with  her  work  until  summer.  You  will 
not  leave  here  at  present — you  said — " 

Here  that  indefinable  something  in  the  wom 
an's  face  became  so  marked  that  Bradford  stop 
ped  abruptly. 

"  It  will  be  pleasanter  for  you  to  visit  Miss 
Tuttle  here,  you  think?"  Miss  Phillipps  said. 

"Pleasanter  for  me?  I  was  not  thinking  of 
myself.  I  can  stand  Hudson  Street.  Pardon 
me,  Vanessa.  I  ought  not  to  ask  so  much  of 
you.  I  suppose  you  have  wecovered  from  what 
fancy  you  had  for  Miss  Tuttle.  Perhaps  the 
fancy  is  transferred  to  Pwofessor  Vacci,  or  is 
awaiting  the  pwesence  of  Mrs.  Besant.  I  only 
hope  Miss  Tuttle  will  not  be  too  much  wounded. 
She  loves  you." 

There  was  something  in  the  speaker's  voice  as 
he  pronounced  those  last  words,  or  in  the  words 
themselves,  that  made  Miss  Phillipps's  face  trem 
ulous  for  an  instant.  She  turned  away.  Thus 
removed  from  her  companion's  eyes  she  asked, 
quite  steadily, 

"  Does  she  love  you  ?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

Bradford  made  a  movement  towards  the  door. 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  271 

In  spite  of  all  his  knowledge  of  his  cousin,  he 
was  puzzled  and  indignant. 

"  I  will  ask  her  here.  I  will  write  to  her  to 
day." 

Miss  Phillipps  came  forward  now  to  her  cous 
in's  side.  She  held  out  her  hand. 

"  It  is  too  early  to  congratulate  you,"  she  said, 
cordially. 

"  You  are  weally  kind,  Vanessa,"  exclaimed 
Bradford,  eagerly.  "  But  don't  do  this  if  it  in 
terferes  with  any  plans.  You  see,  I  was  hoping 
you  still  cared  for  her.  Oh,  don't  hurt  her  by 
coldness  when  you  see  her  !" 

"  Indeed,  Keats,  what  kind  of  a  wild  beast  do 
you  think  I  am  ?  Now  go ;  tell  her — no,  I  will 
write.  Good-bye.  I  am  due  at  the  Christian 
Science  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour." 

Bradford  left  the  room.  Miss  Phillipps  heard 
him  leave  the  house.  She  lingered  a  moment. 
She  looked  at  some  tablets  she  drew  from  her 
pocket.  She  wrote  a  few  words  on  them,  then 
gazed  at  the  words  as  if  she  could  not  see  them. 

That  afternoon  when  Bradford  went  out  to 
Middle  Village  he  went  again  on  horseback.  He 
was  not  going  to  tell  Rowena  that  he  had  been 
to  Boston  and  had  seen  Miss  Phillipps. 

He  was  a  good  walker.  He  could  travel  easi 
ly  the  miles  which  separated  the  hotel  from  the 
Tuttle  farm,  and  still  reach  that  place  by  twi- 


272  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

light.  He  laughed  at  his  own  impatience,  while 
he  greatly  enjoyed  it.  He  swung  rapidly  for 
ward.  He  wondered  if  the  girl  would  be  out-of- 
doors — would  she  be  standing  or  sitting  when  he 
first  saw  her?  Would  her  eyes  become  radiant 
in  that  enchanting  way  they  had  ?  Would  she 
smile?  —  or  have  that  serious  look  which,  per 
haps,  was  sweeter  than  a  smile  ?  Was  it  sweet 
er,  after  all  ?  Her  very  simplicity  perplexed  him. 
What  did  she  think  when  she  met  his  glance  with 
those  clear  eyes  ?  and  when  she  flushed — 

You  perceive  that  Mr.  Bradford's  mind  was 
very  much  occupied  as  he  walked  over  from 
Middle  Village. 

He  hoped  the  Tuttles  would  have  had  their 
supper.  He  wondered  if  they  had  "Johnny  cake  " 
and  milk  and  herring  every  night  in  the  year. 
He  had  survived  seeing  Rowena  partake  of  that 
fare.  He  had  even  partaken  of  it  with  her  and 
found  it  delicious.  But  when  removed  from  her 
presence  he  could  not  honestly  say  he  liked  the 
odor  of  herring.  He  did  not  know  that  this 
fish  was  only  eaten  for  a  certain  time  in  the 
spring. 

It  was  not  a  lover's  fancy  that  made  it  seem  as 
if  Rowena  were  possessed  of  a  simple  and  entirely 
unconscious  dignity  that  enabled  her  to  do  what 
others  could  not  do  in  the  same  way. 

Bradford  was  within  a  couple  of  miles  of  the 


ROWENY   IN    BOSTON.  273 

Tuttle  farm.  He  was  thinking  of  trying  a  cut 
across  a  pasture,  when  he  saw  a  pair  of  horses 
attached  to  a  light  wagon  coming  briskly  along 
the  road. 

He  thought  he  heard  a  shrill  bark  proceed  from 
the  carriage.  He  hesitated,  leaning  on  the  fence 
he  had  been  going  to  jump. 

Now  he  saw  that  the  occupants  of  the  wagon 
were  Rowena,  with  Marmaduke  standing  on  her 
lap  and  barking  at  him  in  great  excitement,  and 
a  young  man  whom  Bradford  recognized  as  the 
one  whom  he  had  seen  at  the  theatre  with  Miss 
Tuttle.  It  was  Philip  Barrett,  who  now  stared  at 
him  as  he  went  by.  Rowena  returned  Bradford's 
greeting  in  a  manner  that  he  could  not  dislike. 
The  dust  flew  round  him  from  the  turnout.  He 
felt  ignored  and  slighted.  It  had  not  once  oc 
curred  to  him  that  Rowena  might  have  some 
other  employment  than  that  of  being  ready  to 
receive  him  when  he  came.  He  was  furious.  His 
imagination  had  not  gone  so  far  as  this.  He 
struck  his  stick  violently  against  the  post.  I  am 
almost  afraid  he  swore.  He  felt  as  if  a  bucket  of 
cold  water  had  been  flung  in  his  face.  He  could 
not  tell  himself  at  first  that  it  might  be  only  a 
natural  thing  that  Miss  Tuttle  should  go  out 
driving  with  an  old  acquaintance. 

But  Bradford  was  possessed  of  perception 
enough  to  discover  that  Barrett  was  not  a  mere 

18 


274  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

acquaintance.  He  remembered  the  fellow's  face 
at  the  theatre. 

"  Here's  Philup,  Roweny,"  Mrs.  Tuttle  had 
said  while  the  family  were  at  the  supper-table. 
"  I  guess  he's  come  to  take  you  out.  There  ain't 
no  better  feller'n  Philup.  Of  course  you'll  go." 

And  Rowena  went.  But  she  took  Marmaduke. 
The  terrier  had  a  way  of  barking  or  of  suddenly 
rising  to  lick  her  face  that  might  be  very  exas 
perating  to  her  companion,  but  that  she  found 
to  be  protective  and  comforting.  Marmaduke 
generally  desired  to  caress  her  at  the  most  inop 
portune  moment,  in  the  eyes  of  some  one  else. 

Young  Barrett,  well  as  he  liked  dogs,  could 
have  found  it  in  his  heart  to  fling  this  small  spec 
imen  over  the  wheel  before  the  first  mile  had 
been  passed  over.  But  he  tried  to  control  him 
self.  He  had  come  over  filled  with  a  desperate 
resolution.  Everybody  was  talking  about  that 
"  city  feller  "  that  had  come  out  "  from  Borston  " 
and  who  was  hanging  round  Roweny  Tuttle.  Of 
course  she  would  take  up  with  him  ;  and  who 
knew  anything  about  him,  anyway?  He  might 
be  a  gambler. 

That  very  morning  Philip's  mother  had  talked 
all  breakfast-time  on  the  subject.  She  said  "Ro 
weny  was  actin'  shameful.  She  guessed  Philip 
wouldn't  write  any  more  letters  to  a  girl  like  that, 
she  wa'n't  deservin'  of  such  letters." 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  275 

At  last  the  long-suffering  Philip  had  risen  from 
the  table.  He  stood  a  moment  looking  fiercely 
at  his  mother. 

"  If  you  ever  speak  like  that  agin  'bout  Ro- 
weny,  I'll  clear  out.  She  couldn't  do  anything 
shameful.  I  mean  what  I  say." 

He  had  then  gone  to  the  barn,  leaving  his 
mother  cowering.  She  was  sickeningly  subser 
vient  all  the  rest  of  the  day.  She  made  no  re 
mark  when  her  son  appeared  towards  night  in 
that  suit  he  had  bought  before  he  went  to  Bos 
ton.  Yes,  it  is  true  that  he  arrayed  himself  in 
those  garments,  and  that  no  intuition  told  him 
not  to  do  so. 

When  the  horses  were  hitched  to  the  carriage 
he  walked  into  the  kitchen  where  his  mother  was 
just  taking  the  herring  from  the  oven. 

"  I  sha'n't  want  any  supper,"  he  said.  He 
stood  with  the  door  in  his  hand.  "  I'm  goin' 
over  to  ask  Roweny  to  marry  me,"  he  continued, 
"and  I  want  you  to  understand  that  if  she  don't, 
'tain't  no  fault  of  hern.  'Tain't  no  crime  not  to 
want  to  marry  me." 

Mrs.  Barrett  opened  her  lips  to  speak,  but  she 
did  not  quite  dare  to  say  the  words  that  came  to 
her. 

It  was  in  this  resolved  condition  of  mind  that 
Philip  drove  over  to  the  Tuttle  house.  His  mood 
was  such  that  really  it  did  seem  a  pity  that  Ro- 


276  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

wena  should  assume  that  Marmaduke  was  in 
cluded  in  the  invitation.  But  there  sat  the  ter 
rier  perched  on  the  girl's  knee,  and  he  kept  such 
a  very  sharp  watch  that  Philip  almost  began  to 
think  that  the  dog  knew  the  whole  state  of 
affairs. 

Every  time  the  young  man  turned  particularly 
towards  his  companion  he  met  the  terrier's  bright 
eyes,  or  the  terrier  would  give  a  lurch  and  a  bark, 
and  immediately  absorb  Rowena's  entire  atten 
tion. 

This  party  had  not  driven  many  rods  before 
the  girl  had  divined  Philip's  intention.  Indeed, 
it  required  no  particular  power  to  divine  this,  for 
in  some  inexplicable  way  Philip's  present  deter 
mination  was  written  boldly  all  over  him,  even 
in  the  creases  of  those  dreadful  clothes. 

Rowena  tried  to  converse  on  topics  quite  for 
eign  to  anything  in  her  companion's  mind.  Each 
attempt  was  very  much  like  throwing  a  stone 
into  an  extremely  deep  well ;  you  suppose  the 
stone  reaches  the  water,  but  you  cannot  see  nor 
hear  anything  to  hint  that  it  does. 

Finally,  in  despair,  Rowena  became  silent.  She 
was  now  convinced  that  she  could  do  nothing 
towards  averting  the  inevitable. 

With  all  his  will  and  nerve,  poor  Philip  from 
moment  to  moment  put  off  the  fatal  question. 
He  grew  more  and  more  depressed  and  silent. 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  277 

With  the  cruelty  with  which  fate  seems  to  like 
to  afflict  a  man,  never  had  he  thought  Rowena 
so  entirely  what  he  longed  for  as  now. 

He  had  been  a  blind  fool  to  think  of  her.  Use 
less  to  tell  himself  that.  He  had  thought  of  her 
and  loved  her  ever  since  he  was  a  boy.  If  he 
could  not  drag  Rowena  Tuttle  home  from  school 
on  his  sled  on  winter  afternoons  he  would  not 
have  anybody.  But  he  usually  could  take  her. 
She  had  always  liked  him  ;  surely  she  had  always 
liked  him.  And  in  those  days  there  had  been 
few  competitors.  He  had  almost  considered  it  a 
settled  thing. 

But  now,  now  her  life  appeared  to  branch  out 
far  away  from  his. 

Philip  took  a  long,  deep  breath.  He  turned 
towards  Rowena. 

Marmaduke  immediately  was  seized  with  an 
irresistible  desire  to  caress  his  mistress. 

Philip  grew  red,  then  nearly  purple. 

"  I  do  almost  wish  that  terrier  hadn't  come," 
he  said. 

"  But  I  can't  go  anywhere  without  Marma 
duke,"  responded  the  girl,  effusively. 

"I  was  going  to  say,"  continued  Philip,  "that 
it's  a  mighty  pity  you  ever  went  to  Borston,  I 
think.  You  can't  live  in  a  thick-settled  place  'n' 
be  jest  the  same  ;  you  can't  do  it." 

He  returned  thus  to  this  old  conclusion  of  his. 


278  ROVVENY    IN    BOSTON. 

"  I'm  just  the  same,"  said  Rowena,  with  quiet 
emphasis. 

"  No  you  ain't,  either,"  he  cried.  "  You  ain't. 
You're  all  taken  up  with  that  paintin'  notion  of 
your'n  ;  you're — " 

"Yes,"  interrupted  Rowena,  "I  am  all  taken  up 
with  it ;  I  shall  always  be  taken  up  with  it  ;  I 
love  it  beyond  words.  I  don't  know  as  I  should 
want  to  live  if  I  thought  I  couldn't  work  at  paint 
ing,  and  try  to  do  better  and  better  work.  Do 
you  understand  me,  Philip  ?" 

She  turned  to  him  with  beseeching  eyes. 

But  if  he  understood,  he  would  not  own  that 
he  did  so.  He  would  rush  to  his  fate.  He 
thought  that  a  fellow  never  was  exactly  sure  how 
to  know  what  a  woman  meant.  He  believed  that 
the  only  manly  way  to  put  things  beyond  a  doubt 
was  to  ask  her. 

But  his  heart  sank  very  low.  The  terrier  con 
siderately  remained  quiet  for  an  instant.  But 
one  never  knows  precisely  how  long  a  Yorkshire 
may  continue  to  be  considerate. 

Philip  met  Rowena's  eyes  with  such  a  look 
that  her  own  dropped,  and  she  had  a  wild  feeling 
that  perhaps  she  pitied  him  almost  enough  to 
love  him. 

But  she  did  not  love  him.  She  would  certainly 
know  it  if  she  did.  Miss  Phillipps's  assertion 
that  we  know  nothing  positively  in  these  days 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  279 

came  back  to  her,  and  with  that  memory  came 
the  recollection  of  Miss  Phillipps's  presence.  A 
curious  glow  and  thrill  went  through  the  girl's 
heart. 

"  You  know  what  I'm  going  to  ask  ye,  Ro- 
weny,"  now  said  Philip,  visibly  bracing  himself. 

His  voice  trembled  pitiably.  It  was  really  ter 
rible  that  Marmaduke  should  have  chosen  this 
instant  to  make  a  furious  attempt  to  fling  him 
self  from  Rowena's  arms  upon  a  stray  hound 
which  had  just  emerged  from  the  woods  at  the 
right. 

Philip  shut  his  teeth  hard,  while  his  companion 
reasoned  with  Marmaduke,  and  at  last  quiet 
ed  him. 

When  peace  was  restored,  and  the  terrier  had 
nobly  offered  to  kiss  Philip  himself  but  had  been 
restrained,  the  young  man  repeated  his  words. 

"  I  s'pose  you  know  what  I'm  goin'  to  ask  you, 
Roweny  ?" 

She  did  not  reply.  Probably  he  did  not  expect 
a  reply. 

There  was  a  somewhat  long  and  painful  si 
lence. 

Philip  cut  his  horses  with  a  whip.  They  were 
so  surprised  that  they  sprang  forward  furiously. 
As  they  sprang  their  driver  turned  to  the  girl. 

"  Will  you  have  me,  Roweny  ?  I  love  you  with 
all  my  heart.  I'll  take  awful  good  care  of  you. 


280  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

You  sh'll  paint  all  you  want  to.  You  sh'll  do 
whatever  you  please." 

It  was  said  now.  Rowena's  lips  appeared  stiff 
to  her  as  she  spoke. 

"  I  can't  marry  you,  Philip." 

She  wondered  if  it  hurt  him  any  more  to  hear 
those  words  than  it  hurt  her  to  speak  them.  It 
was  dreadful  to  her  to  seem  cruel  to  Philip 
Barrett. 

He  sat  without  moving,  with  his  eyes  fixed 
straight  ahead.  He  had  got  his  blow.  He  had 
been  almost  sure  it  would  be  like  this.  Now 
there  was  no  more  doubt,  and  no  more  hope. 

He  was  to  live  without  Rowena  Tuttle.  How 
was  he  going  to  do  it  ?  He  hoped  no  one  would 
tell  him  he  would  get  over  it  and  marry  some 
one  else.  He  should  want  to  kill  any  one  who 
said  that. 

His  mind  went  groping  dully  among  various 
probabilities.  What  did  Rowena  think  of  that 
"city  feller"  who  was  staying  at  that  hotel  in 
Middle  Village?  And  there  was  that  person, 
and  his  aunt  who  was  a  medium — that  person 
who  was  so  "  dressy."  What  did  she  think  of 
him  ? 

He  could  not  ask  her.  He  did  not  think  it 
would  be  exactly  "  the  thing  "  to  put  such  ques 
tions. 

The  twilight  was  now  fast  merging  into  even- 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  281 

ing.  It  was  half  a  dozen  miles  to  Rovvena's 
home. 

"  I  guess  we'll  go  round  by  the  Corners,"  at 
last  Philip  said,  and  turned  his  horse  into  a  well- 
travelled  road. 

It  was  useless  to  try  to  talk.  Marmaduke  was 
the  only  one  who  was  quite  himself. 

They  drew  up  at  the  post-office,  where  the  late 
mail  had  just  arrived.  The  two  sat  there  in  the 
mild,  sweet  air  of  the  spring  gloaming  until  the 
mail  was  distributed.  Then  Philip  brought  out 
all  the  papers  and  letters  for  his  neighbors.  They 
made  but  a  small  package. 

There  was  one  letter  for  Rowena.  She  could 
not  see  the  writing  plainly  enough  to  guess  the 
author  of  it.  Who  would  write  to  her  now  she 
was  at  home  ?  She  had  very  few  letters.  She 
was  interested  and  excited  about  this  one. 

Philip  had  involuntarily  glanced  at  the  enve 
lope  as  it  had  been  handed  to  him.  It  was  a 
large,  flowing  superscription.  He  was  sure  that 
no  one  but  a  man  would  write  in  that  way.  He 
thought,  with  a  heavy  bitternesss  of  spirit,  that 
this  epistle  was  from  that  man  who  had  the  aunt 
who  was  a  medium. 


282  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 


XIX. 
FERDINAND   IN  TROUBLE. 

As  soon  as  she  reached  home  Rowena  took 
her  little  hand-lamp  and  went  up  to  her  room 
where  the  one  window  looked  over  the  wide 
stretch  of  pasture-land.  The  moon  lighted  up 
the  pasture  now. 

The  girl  sat  down  a  moment  with  the  letter 
in  her  hand.  Philip  had  gone.  He  had  not  lin 
gered  a  moment,  save  to  take  her  hand  and  say 
in  an  unsteady  voice  that  "he  didn't  know  when 
he  should  see  her  again.  He  should  try  not  to 
see  her;  he  didn't  think  he  could  stan'  it  to 
keep  meetin'  her." 

Mrs.  Tuttle  was  standing  in  the  open  door 
when  her  daughter  walked  slowly  up  to  the  house. 

"Oh,  Roweny!"  she  exclaimed.  "I  do  hope 
you  ain't  done  nothin'  you'll  be  sorry  for." 

"  I  hope  so,  too,"  returned  Rowena.  "  I've 
done  what  I  had  to  do.  Don't  stop  me,  mother, 
I  can't  talk  about  it." 

Then  she  had  taken  her  lamp  and  gone  up 
stairs.  Her  sisters  looked  at  her  wonderingly. 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  283 

Mrs.  Tuttle  stepped  out  to  the  barn,  where  her 
husband  was  looking  after  a  sick  cow. 

"I  guess  it's  all  over,  Hiram,"  she  said,  stop 
ping  in  the  yard,  where  she  found  him  cutting 
up  fodder. 

"What's  over?"  in  an  alarmed  tone. 

"  All  our  plans  'bout  Roweny  'n'  Philup.  She's 
jest  come  home." 

"Oh,  well,"  returned  Mr.  Tuttle,  "we  can't 
manage  them  things,  you  know.  The  young 
folks  have  their  own  notions.  I  hope  it'll  all 
come  out  right,  'n'  I  guess  'twill.  Do  you  think" 
— pausing  in  pushing  the  fodder  through  the 
cutter,  "do  you  think  she's  got  a  fancy  for  this 
feller  that's  round,  'n'  that  can't  say  'r'  only  once 
'n'  a  while  ?" 

"  I've  ben  tryin'  to  make  up  my  mind,  but  I 
can't.  Well's  I  know  her,  I  can't  seem  to  tell. 
What  do  you  think  of  him  ?" 

"  I  like  him  first-rate.  He  ain't  no  fool,  I  tell 
ye.  I've  been  watchin'  him.  He's  in  love  with 
her." 

Mr.  Tuttle  spoke  rather  proudly.  He  had 
taken  to  Bradford  more  than  his  wife  had  done. 
It  was  a  recommendation  for  the  young  man  that 
he  had  fallen  in  love  with  Rowcna. 

At  last  the  girl  detached  her  thoughts  from 
Philip  sufficiently  to  recall  her  interest  in  the 
letter  she  had  just  received. 


284  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

It  was  not  from  the  young  man  whose  aunt 
was  a  medium.  It  was  from  Miss  Phillipps. 
She  had  lost  no  time  in  keeping  her  promise  to 
her  cousin  Keats.  Her  note  to  Rowena  had 
gone  out  the  same  day  on  which  he  had  gone. 
There  were  not  many  lines.  The  girl's  eyes 
flashed  eagerly  down  the  page,  then  back  again 
for  a  second  reading.  Surely  there  was  more 
than  that.  No,  there  was  not. 

The  letter  seemed  to  be  cordial.  It  asked  Ro 
wena  to  come  to  Charles  Street  for  a  visit  of  a 
week  or  two  on  her  return  to  Boston.  The  writer 
would  not  leave  town  quite  as  early  as  she  had 
once  intended. 

It  was  in  vain  for  Rowena  to  read  the  words 
again.  She  was  chilled.  But  she  did  not  know 
why.  Her  very  fingers  grew  cold  as  they  held 
the  paper  and  felt  the  message  from  her  heart. 
And  yet  it  seemed  a  cordial,  sincere  invitation. 

She  \vould  not  go  to  Miss  Phillipps's  house. 
Even  if  she  had  felt  differently  she  would  not  go, 
because  she  was  in  Boston  to  work.  She  was  to 
leave  home  the  following  Monday.  She  could 
spare  no  more  time  before  the  long  summer 
when  she  would  be  in  the  country,  and  would 
feel  as  if  everybody  were  looking  at  her  and  con 
demning  her  because,  if  she  must  take  lessons, 
she  did  not  take  them  of  that  woman  who  came 
out  from  some  place — it  was  not  known  where — 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  285 

only  "  she  came  out."  She  made  a  person  an 
artist  in  six  easy  lessons. 

Rowena  was  very  much  depressed  when  at 
last  she  lay  down  for  the  night.  In  the  back 
ground  of  all  her  reflections  was  the  face  of  Phil 
ip  Barrett  when  he  had  bidden  her  good-bye. 
There  was  also  a  feeling  that  she  might  not  have 
money  enough.  She  supposed  people  always 
spent  more  than  they  intended  to  spend.  She 
felt  that  she  had  been  saving  of  her  pennies 
to  the  verge  of  meanness.  And  they  were 
getting  so  low.  She  must  decide  whether  she 
would  apply  for  the  school  Georgie  Warner 
would  give  up  in  the  fall.  She  should  dislike  it; 
but  she  might  be  obliged  to  teach  a  term  or 
two  so  that  she  might  still  go  to  Allestree  for 
lessons.  She  could  not  conceive  any  stress  of 
circumstances  beyond  an  interference  by  Provi 
dence  that  would  make  her  give  up  her  learning 
to  paint.  It  had  been  a  dear  triumph  for  her 
to  know  that,  since  her  study,  she  had  far  more 
control  of  her  hand  when  she  made  sketches  from 
nature.  There  was  a  something  she  could  catch 
and  hold  now  which  had  always  eluded  her  be 
fore. 

Mr.  Bradford  praised  while  he  criticised.  He 
had  many  ways  like  his  cousin.  Rowena  had  al 
most  fallen  into  a  habit  of  watching  for  those 
ways.  When  they  came  she  would  suddenly 


286  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

look  up  at  the  young  man  and  smile.  On  such 
occasions  the  responsive  smile  upon  his  face  was 
becoming  so  ardently  warm  that  Rowena  was 
vaguely  moved  by  it. 

The  next  day  was  Saturday.  On  the  Monday, 
early,  she  would  go  back  to  Boston  in  a  boat 
with  Uncle  Reuben.  To  ride  thus  would  not  be 
tedious  now  that  the  days  were  sweet  and  warm 
with  the  near  presence  of  summer.  Besides,  she 
saved  a  car  fare  by  going  this  way.  She  would 
send  Miss  Phillipps  a  note  from  Hudson  Street. 

Lying  there,  close  to  the  roof  of  the  old  house, 
she  began  to  compose  the  note  to  Miss  Phillipps. 
But  her  mind  wandered  ;  she  no  longer  heard  the 
frogs.  She  was  asleep. 

Georgie  Warner  was  already  mending  rapidly. 
The  news  that  Mary  Jane  Jewett  was  really  going 
to  marry  Charlie  Simmons  and  "  live  in  Borston," 
was  now  widely  disseminated.  Miss  Jewett  had 
kept  her  promise.  She  had  told  Jim  Townshend. 
He  had  struggled  manfully  under  the  blow,  and 
he  was  resolved  that  Georgie  should  comfort 
him — as  resolved  as  he  could  be  with  his  kind  of 
a  mouth  and  chin. 

Miss  Jewett,  to  facilitate  further  the  distribu 
tion  of  the  news,  had  imparted  it  to  Marthy  S. 

When  Rowena  walked  over  to  see  Georgie,  late 
Saturday  afternoon,  she  had  found  that  invalid 
sitting  in  a  rocker,  with  a  pillow  at  her  back, 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  287 

looking  over  strips  of  patchwork.  She  even  had 
visions  of  a  new  kind  of  pattern  of  a  bedquilt 
that  should  outdo  anything  ever  yet  made. 

Georgie  was  still  weak,  however.  She  was 
melted  to  tears  at  sight  of  her  friend,  who  had 
not  been  afraid  to  speak  to  that  Jewett  girl. 

She  hugged  Rowena  with  hysterical  fervor.  She 
asserted  that  if  it  had  not  been  for  her  she  "should 
have  ben  in  her  grave  'fore  the  Fourth  of  July." 

Rowena  could  not  dispute  this  assertion.  She 
sat  down  and  put  her  arm  round  Georgie.  She 
listened,  a  little  absently,  to  a  great  deal  of  talk 
of  Jim  and  Jim's  goodness,  now  he  was  "really 
red  of  that  awful  Jewett  girl."  Georgie  almost 
hinted  that  Jim  would  probably  have  taken 
measures  himself  to  be  "red  of  her,"  if  things 
hadn't  turned  out  exactly  as  they  had. 

It  was  not  many  days  since  this  change  of  cir 
cumstances  had  occurred,  but  it  seemed  rather 
long  ago.  Georgie's  intensity  of  interest  in  bed- 
quilts  at  last  wearied  even  Rowena.  She  must 
go  back.  She  rose.  She  skilfully  parried  or 
ignored  any  references  to  the  city  feller,  also  to 
Philip  Barrett.  She  thought  she  could  not  hear 
Philip's  name  mentioned.  She  was  in  terror  lest 
Georgie  might  speak  it. 

She  caught  up  Marmaduke  under  her  arm  and 
hurried  away.  She  would  stop  and  say  good 
bye  on  Monday. 


288  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

She  walked  through  the  small  pine  wood,  the 
odorous  dusk  soothing  her.  She  was  almost 
ashamed  and  wholly  astonished  that  she  was 
eager  to  get  away  from  home  again. 

She  believed  her  home  and  its  surroundings 
must  have  changed.  Only  her  mother  and  father 
were  the  same  always.  At  thought  of  them,  all 
that  she  feared  must  be  a  wicked  hardness  in  her 
nature  melted  suddenly  and  flooded  her  eyes. 

It  was  full  of  black  shadows  among  the  pines 
there,  though  the  moonlight  was  bright  beyond 
the  trees.  Rowena  could  hear  the  terrier  rus 
tling  about  in  the  sweet-smelling  pine-needles, 
sniffing  and  sometimes  growling  under  his  breath. 
He  was  as  protective  as  if  he  were  a  very  large 
dog. 

Suddenly  he  ran  forward  and  barked  in  such  a 
tumultuous  way  that  each  explosion  raised  his 
fore-feet  from  the  ground. 

Rowena  stood  still,  hidden  in  the  shadows. 
It  was  a  lonely  place,  but  the  girl  had  traversed 
it  many  a  dark  night  and  never  thought  of  fear. 
It  was  a  part  of  her  home  to  her.  But  she  was 
startled. 

She  could  not  see  Marmaduke  at  all,  but  he 
kept  up  his  clamor  as  he  never  did  save  at  some 
kind  of  an  intruder. 

After  waiting  a  moment,  Rowena  walked  for 
ward  towards  the  dog.  Now  she  saw  in  the  moon- 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  289 

light  the  figure  of  a  woman,  hesitating,  and  look 
ing  about  her  doubtfully. 

"  Come  here,  Marmaduke  !     Be  still,  sir !" 

Rowena  advanced  as  she  spoke,  and  so  did  the 
stranger. 

"Is  it  Miss  Tuttle?"  inquired  a  voice  which 
Rowena  had  heard  before,  but  which  she  could 
not  really  recognize. 

She  went  swiftly  forward. 

"  Did  you  want  me?"  she  asked,  alarmed  and 
surprised. 

The  stranger,  who  wore  a  long,  gray  cloak  and 
a  close  bonnet,  clasped  her  hands  nervously  to 
gether. 

"Oh,  I'm  so  thankful  to  find  you!"  she  cried, 
in  a  subdued  voice.  "  It  seems  as  if  I'd  been 
looking  for  you  for  ages,  though  I  only  left  Bos 
ton  this  afternoon.  You  know  me,  don't  you, 
Miss  Tuttle?" 

Rowena  held  out  her  hand. 

"Why,  it's  Miss  Foster!"  she  said,  in  strong 
surprise. 

Miss  Foster  moved  a  few  steps  until  she  came 
to  a  tree  ;  she  leaned  heavily  against  it. 

"  I'm  just  as  nervous  's  I  can  be,"  she  said,  dis 
tressfully.  "  We  drove  over  from  the  next  town. 
Ferdinand  would  have  it  so.  He  said  he  didn't 
care  what  did  happen ;  he  would  see  you  before 
he  went ;  and  he  made  me  come  with  him.  He 
19 


290  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

said  he  shouldn't  dare  to  come  without  me.  He 
took  a  notion  that  you  seemed  to  like  me.  You 
know  we  said  we'd  go  to  see  each  other  in  Bors- 
ton." 

"  Yes,"  said  Rowena.  She  was  becoming  ex 
cited  herself  now.  She  wanted  to  question  the 
girl,  but  she  hardly  knew  how  to  do  so.  She 
tried  to  be  quiet,  and  wait.  Meanwhile  the  moon 
light  revealed  Miss  Foster's  face  to  be  more  pal 
lid  than  usual,  and  full  of  the  keenest  suffering. 
Her  eyes  were  wild  and  dilated.  She  was  contin 
ually  looking  behind  her,  and  often  she  stopped 
in  the  middle  of  a  sentence  and  seemed  to  listen. 

She  left  the  tree  and  came  close  to  Rowena. 

"You  see,"  she  said,  almost  whispering,  and 
speaking  so  rapidly  it  was  difficult  for  her  listen 
er  to  follow  her,  "  Ferdinand's  got  into  trouble. 
He  made  me  promise  to  tell  you.  He's  so  gener 
ous  and  so  good-hearted,  you  know,  that  he's  been 
spending  too  much  money.  He's  the  most  gen 
erous  fellow  in  the  world  ;  money  just  slips  out 
of  his  hands.  Oh,  Miss  Tuttle,  don't  you  go  and 
think  he's  bad!  I  d'know  what  I  should  have 
done  if  it  hadn't  been  for  him  since  I've  been 
sick,  him  and  the  Science.  He's  got  into  debt. 
Oh,  I  mustn't  stop  to  tell  you  all  about  it.  You 
know  he's  head  book-keeper  for  Nichols  Brothers. 
He's  been  taking  money,  now  and  then,  for  some 
time.  He  was  going  to  pay  it  back,  you  know. 


ROWENY   IN    BOSTON.  29 1 

He  fixed  up  the  books  so  it  didn't  show.  He 
says  in  a  few  months  more,  he  thinks,  he  should 
have  had  a  chance  to  pay  it  all  back.  But  they've 
found  it  out,  or  Ferd  is  almost  sure  they  suspect. 
He  says  he's  got  to  skip  ;  he  says  he'll  go  out  of 
the  country ;  he  says  he  sh'll  find  some  way  to 
pay  urn ;  he's  sure  he  shall.  He's  out  there, 
round  the  turn,  the  other  side  of  those  savins. 
Will  you  come  ?  He's  waiting." 

Rowena  could  not,  for  the  moment,  reply.  She 
gazed  in  silence  at  the  girl,  who  kept  twisting 
her  hands  together. 

"We  can't  waste  time,"  said  Miss  Foster. 
"We've  got  to  be  over  to  Hibbard's  Station  to 
catch  the  midnight  train,  and  our  horse  's  been 
getting  lame  for  the  last  mile  or  two.  It's  a 
stable  horse  from  the  town  here,  and  I've  got  to 
drive  it  back.  You  see  he  might  have  gone 
right  on  in  the  train,  but  he  was  bound  to  see 
you.  He  said  he'd  risk  it.  Oh,  do  come !  How 
can  it  harm  you  ?" 

Rowena  did  not  hesitate  any  longer.  Miss 
Foster  took  her  hand  eagerly,  and  together  the 
two  girls  ran  along  the  dusty,  moonlit  road. 

Not  far,  however.  The  terrier,  racing  on  ahead, 
came  to  a  place  where  he  began  to  bark  again. 
A  form  detached  itself  from  the  darkness  under 
the  savins.  There  was  a  horse  and  buggy  stand 
ing  near. 


292  ROWENY   IN    BOSTON. 

Rowena  had  not  a  single  word  at  her  com 
mand  as  young  Foster  came  out  into  the  moon 
light.  She  held  fast  to  her  companion's  hand 
lest  she  might  try  to  leave  her. 

Ferdinand  Foster  took  off  his  hat  without  any 
of  his  old  flourish.  He  had  no  display  of  neck 
tie  and  no  flower  in  his  button-hole.  He  fixed 
his  eyes  eagerly  on  Rowena.  She  held  out  her 
hand.  There  was  something  so  desolate  and  ap 
pealing  in  Foster's  face  and  attitude,  something 
so  entirely  different  from  the  way  she  had  re 
membered  him,  that  she  obeyed  her  kindly  im 
pulse  and  put  out  her  hand. 

"  It  is  awfully  good  of  you,"  he  stammered. 
"  You  see,  I  had  to  see  you.  I — " 

He  stopped  suddenly.  He  turned  and  walked 
away  a  few  steps,  his  hat  still  in  his  hand,  his 
head  bent. 

Rowena  hardly  knew  him.  She  was  so  sorry 
that  her  face  was  almost  tender. 

He  returned  and  stood  in  front  of  her,  his  back 
to  the  light,  which  was  upon  her  in  full  radiance. 

"Since  I've  seen  you,  Miss  Tuttle,;'he  began 
again, "  I've  meant  to  be  a  better  fellow.  I'd  got 
into  kind  of  bad  ways,  you  know.  But  from  the 
minute  I  saw  you  I  felt  different.  I've  left  off 
doing  a  lot  of  things  that  I  knew  you  wouldn't 
like.  I  meant  to  tell  you  all  about  it  some  time, 
when  I  knew  you  better.  But  I  couldn't  see  you 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  293 

much,  somehow.  I  wish  I  could  have  seen  you 
more.  I  don't  see  how  a  fellow  could  be  very 
bad  that  saw  you  often.  Yes,  I  do  wish  I  could 
have  seen  you  more." 

Rowena  was  silent.  She  was  trying  to  recog 
nize  the  man  before  her.  Even  his  voice  seemed 
unfamiliar.  She  could  not  quite  realize  that  these 
words  were  spoken  by  Mr.  Foster — and  to  her. 
It  was  all  unreal.  The  moonlight,  the  two  peo 
ple,  the  shadowy  carriage  and  horse ;  even  the 
terrier,  now  sitting  silently  close  to  her  feet,  might 
have  been  some  other  terrier. 

"  You  ain't  going  to  be  angry  with  me,  are 
you  ?"  asked  Foster,  coming  still  nearer.  "  I  know 
I  was  cheeky  in  tryin'  to  see  ypu  ;  but  you'll  over 
look  it,  won't  you  ?  I  guess  you  don't  know  how 
I've  been  thinkin'  of  you.  To  tell  you  the  truth, 
if  you  were  a  friend  to  a  fellow  I  don't  see  how 
he  could  help  being  good.  I  wish  I'd  known  you 
a  good  while  ago." 

Still  Rowena  did  not  speak.  But  she  was 
touched.  She  did  not  understand  very  well  how 
he  could  really  mean  that  a  man  would  be  better 
if  she  were  his  friend.  She  thought  it  was  only 
a  way  of  speaking. 

Foster  was  looking  at  her  intently,  longingly. 
His  commonplace  face  received  a  little  dignity 
from  his  earnestness. 

His  sister  drew  out  her  watch  and  looked  at  it. 


294  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

"  There  ain't  much  more  time,  Ferd,"  she  said. 

He  turned  almost  savagely  upon  her. 

"I    can't    help    it,"   he   cried.     "I   don't   see; 
how  I'm  going  to  get  that  train,  anyway.     Look 
at  that  horse.     He  can't  put  that  foot  to  the 
ground  now.     I'm  just  up  a  tree — that's  what  I 
am." 

Miss  Foster  began  to  wring  her  hands. 

"  Don't  do  that,"  he  went  on.  "  What's  the 
use  of  it?  If  I  can  get  away  I  shall.  If  I  don't 
they'll  nab  me,  that's  all." 

He  seemed  ashamed  of  this  outburst,  for  he 
went  on  directly,  looking  at  Rowena  and  then 
back  to  his  sister  : 

"You  see,  I  ain't  slept  much  lately.  I'm  a 
regular  brute,  Miss  Tuttle — " 

Here  he  appeared  unable  to  control  his  voice 
directly.  He  put  his  hand  to  his  necktie,  as  if 
he  must  loosen  it.  All  the  time  he  was  gazing 
intently  at  Rowena,  whose  feelings  were  a  mixt 
ure  of  pity  and  a  desire  to  turn  and  run  away. 

"  I  don't  suppose  I  shall  ever  see  you  again," 
he  said.  "  I  can't  ever  tell  you — you  wouldn't 
want  me  to  tell  you  how  I— 

"  Oh  no,  no !"  cried  Rowena,  in  a  kind  of 
fright,  suddenly  feeling  that  the  expression  in 
the  man's  eyes  had  all  at  once  become  unendur 
able.  She  could  not  be  looked  at  in  that  way 
by  Ferdinand  Foster. 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  295 

She  retreated  a  few  steps.  Perhaps  uncon 
sciously,  Foster  followed  her. 

"  I  tell  you  I  shall  never  see  you  again,"  he  re 
peated,  passionately.  "  Haven't  you  any  pity  to 
throw  to  me  ?" 

The  pleading  in  his  voice  touched  her  now. 
She  put  out  both  her  hands. 

"  Oh,  I  am  sorry  !  I  am  sorry  !"  she  said,  with 
pathetic  earne-stness. 

He  seized  her  hands  and  held  them  despair 
ingly. 

He  could  not  say  any  different  words  from 
those  he  had  already  used. 

"  I  do  wish  I  could  have  seen  you  oftener !" 

"  Ferdinand !" 

His  sister  called  his  name.  She  was  trying  to 
lead  the  horse  forward  ;  but  the  animal  could  not 
step  ;  he  could  not  put  his  foot  to  the  ground. 

"What  shall  we  do?  What  shall  we  do?" 
moaned  Miss  Foster. 

Her  brother  stamped  furiously.  He  ran  to  the 
horse  and  looked  down  at  the  leg  which  was  held 
from  the  ground,  the  toe  just  resting. 

"  What  will  become  of  you  ?  You  must  catch 
that  train !" 

Miss  Foster  seemed  beside  herself.  Rowena 
tried  not  to  be  too  excited  to  think  clearly.  There 
was  no  neighbor  who  had  a  horse  that  could  go 
beyond  a  slow  trot.  Useless  to  think  of  them. 


296  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

She  knew  that  Mr.  Bradford's  horse  was  fleet. 
She  had  thought  he  would  come  over  this  even 
ing,  because  it  had  been  his  habit  to  come  over. 
Perhaps  he  was  at  her  house  now.  But  could 
they  have  all  the  time  necessary  to  walk  that  dis 
tance  ? 

It  is  true  that  things  sometimes  happen  oppor 
tunely.  One  of  these  things  happened  now.  The 
sound  of  a  quick  gallop  came  down  the  road.  Ro- 
wena  knew  that  gallop  very  well.  She  ran  along 
to  meet  the  coming  horseman.  He  saw  her  and 
came  yet  more  rapidly.  He  sprang  to  the  ground. 
She  hardly  looked  at  him.  She  seized  the  horse's 
bridle. 

"Come,  Mr.  Foster!  Quick!  This  horse  '11 
take  you  !" 

Foster  ran  forward.  He  caught  Rowena's  oth 
er  hand  and  kissed  it.  He  jumped  into  the  sad 
dle  and  rode  away. 

Rowena  now  turned  to  Keats  Bradford. 

"  You'll  lend  your  horse  for  a  few  hours,  won't 
you,  Mr.  Bradford  ?  The  case  is  very  urgent." 

Bradford's  face  was  rather  black.  He  was  think 
ing  of  the  kiss  upon  Rowena's  hand. 

"I  think  I  shall  lend  him,"  he  answered, "since 
you  ask  me,  and  since  he  is  already  gone." 


ROWKNY    IN    BOSTON.  297 


XX. 

MARMADUKE     AND     MARTHY     S.     MAKE     THEM 
SELVES   USEFUL. 

THE  two  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  dusty  road 
just  where  Foster  had  left  them. 

"  Were  you  alone  here  with  that  man  ?" 

Mr.  Bradford  put  the  question  with  so  much 
asperity  that  Rowena's  eyes  flashed. 

"I  have^been  alone  here  with  you,"  she  said. 
Then  she  seemed  to  think  it  not  worth  while  to 
be  angry,  and  added,  quickly,  "Do  you  consider 
it  being  alone  if  you  have  a  buggy  and  a  terrier 
and  a  girl  and  a  horse  with  you  ?  But  the  horse 
is  so  lame  that  perhaps  he  doesn't  count.  Do 
you  think  we  can  get  him  anywhere,  Mr.  Brad 
ford?  Please  look  at  him.  Perhaps  you  can  lead 
him.  This  is  Mr.  Bradford,  Miss  Foster,"  as  the 
two  came  to  the  place  where  Foster's  sister  was 
standing  desolately  by  the  buggy,  hardly  taking 
it  in  that  her  brother  had  really  gone. 

Mr.  Keats  Bradford  needed  all  his  self-posses 
sion  to  enable  him  to  be  as  nonchalantly  calm  as 
he  was  now.  He  greeted  this  new  young  lady  as 


29&  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

if  he  were  meeting  her  in  a  drawing-room.  He 
asked  if  he  could  help  her  in  any  way.  In  five 
minutes  he  found  himself  first  in  a  procession 
which  consisted  of  himself,  leading  that  other 
young  man's  lame  horse,  while  two  young  wom 
en  and  a  dog  followed  on  behind. 

Bradford  was  not  wearing  his  eye-glass  so  much 
in  these  days,  but  he  was  still  as  helpless  con 
cerning  his  pronunciation. 

He  was  swearing  occasionally  now  with  a  great 
deal  of  earnestness.  He  had  ridden  over  this 
evening  with  the  intention  of  having  a  short  time 
alone  with  Miss  Tuttle.  He  did  not  know  when 
he  should  have  another  opportunity.  It  would 
not  be  so  easy  to  meet  her  in  Boston.  He  felt  that 
it  was  an  absolute  necessity  for  him  to  see  her. 

He  glanced  back  at  her  now.  She  was  walk 
ing  somewhat  by  herself.  Her  hat  was  pushed 
back.  He  saw  the  outline  of  her  face  and  that 
her  lips  were  close  shut,  as  if  she  were  thinking 
steadily.  Was  she  thinking  of  that  man  who  had 
just  ridden  away  ?  It  was  all  very  odd.  How  did 
the  fellow  come  here?  And  were  the  police  af 
ter  him?  It  seemed  to  Bradford  as  if  there  was 
a  flavor  of  the  police  in  the  way  the  escape  had 
been  made;  for  it  must  be  an  escape.  He  would 
have  it  out  with  Rowena  at  the  first  possible  mo 
ment.  He  looked  back  again.  This  time  Rowe 
na  looked  at  him  ;  she  smiled.  He  could  not 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  299 

comprehend  why  this  country  girl  should  have  a 
smile  that  might  mean  nothing — or  everything. 
He  had  spent  a  great  many  hours  of  late  think 
ing  of  that  smile.  Just  at  this  moment  he  asked 
himself  if  it  were  likely  she  had  ever  bestowed  it 
upon  that  person  to  whom  he  had  just  now  lent 
his  horse. 

It  was  a  great  trial  to  Keats  Bradford  that  a 
stranger  should  ride  his  horse.  He  winced  now 
as  he  thought  of  it.  He  had  not  an  acquaint 
ance  whom  he  would  willingly  have  mount  that 
intimate  equine  friend  of  his.  What  if  that  fel 
low  should  strike  him  ?  What  if  he  should  make 
him  go  too  far  and  too  fast  ?  And  when  and 
where  was  the  owner  to  have  him  again  ? 

Having  asked  these  questions  irritatedly  of 
himself,  Bradford  fell  to  planning  precisely  what 
he  should  do  if  he  ever  succeeded  in  leading  this 
atrociously  lame  beast  as  far  as  Mr.  Tuttle's.  He 
made  his  plans  very  distinctly,  and  he  adhered  to 
them. 

At  last  the  company  had  entered  the  yard  of 
the  Tuttle  house.  Rowena  ran  forward  and  soon 
returned  with  her  father.  What  explanation  she 
had  given  him  was  not  known.  Mrs.  Tuttle  ap 
peared  on  the  porch  with  an  apron  over  her  head. 
She  invited  Miss  Foster  to  come  in  and  rest.  Ro 
wena  was  following  her.  There  could  be  no  ques 
tion  about  the  farther  travel  of  the  lame  horse. 


300  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

Bradford's  face  was  set  to  a  resolution. 

Rowena  heard  a  voice  close  behind  her  say, 

"  Miss  Tuttle." 

She  paused,  and  half  turned  her  head.  The 
others  went  on. 

"  I  am  devoured  by  curiosity,"  said  Bradford. 

"  Oh,"  said  the  girl. 

"  I  am  also  devoured  by  anxiety  lest  some 
thing  happen  to  my  horse.  I  love  my  horse." 

She  turned  fully  round  towards  him. 

"  If  you  are  devoured  by  two  such  feelings, 
there  will  soon  be  nothing  left  of  you,"  she  re 
sponded.  Then  she  added,  quickly  and  earnest 
ly,  "  I  know  what  it  was  for  you  to  lend  your 
horse  thus.  It  was  so  good  of  you." 

"Are  you  weally  very  grateful?" 

"Indeed  I  am." 

"  Prove  it." 

She  blushed  and  hesitated.  He  tried  to  speak 
calmly. 

"  Must  I  prove  it,"  she  asked. 

"Yes;  you  must.  I  hope  it  won't  cost  you 
much  to  walk  down  the  road  with  me." 

"  But  if  I  meet  some  one  who  asks,  'Are  you 
alone  with  that  man  ?'  " 

"  I  will  answer  such  a  person.     Come." 

Rowena  again  hesitated.  Something  whisper 
ed  to  her  not  to  go.  She  was  afraid. 

"  But  Miss  Foster—" 


ROWENY   IN    BOSTON.  301 

x 

"  She  can  wait." 

Why  should  she  not  go  ?  There  really  was  no 
reason. 

She  turned  and  whistled  for  Marmaduke,  who 
had  followed  Miss  Foster  into  the  house,  and 
who  was  now  deeply  engaged  in  smelling  of  her 
skirts.  He  felt  that  there  was  something  of 
which  he  did  not  fully  approve  about  this  new 
comer,  and  he  was  trying  to  decide  precisely 
what  it  was. 

He  galloped  out  at  the  door,  however,  when 
he  heard  his  mistress  whistle. 

"  Are  you  going  to  take  him  ?"  asked  Brad 
ford. 

"  You  would  not  separate  me  from  Marma 
duke?" 

She  glanced  up  at  him  as  she  lifted  the  terrier 
and  put  him  under  her  arm. 

Bradford  groaned  aloud.  He  would  perhaps 
learn,  as  Philip  Barrett  had  learned,  that  a  small 
dog  is  not  always  a  source  of  unmixed  pleasure 
to  all  parties  concerned.  There  was  an  especial 
ly  strong  desire  on  Rowena's  part  to  have  Mar 
maduke  with  her.  He  was  a  third  person,  a 
shield,  a  protection.  He  was  usually  discrimi 
nating  as  to  the  times  when  he  ought  to  assert 
himself;  but  it  must  be  owned  that  he  some 
times  asserted  himself  when  he  ought  not,  thus 
resembling  many  human  beings.  He  never  erred 


302  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

on  the  side  of  self-suppression ;  again  resembling 
many  human  beings. 

Bradford  and  his  companions  walked  slowly 
out  of  the  yard  and  down  the  road  in  a  different 
direction  from  that  in  which  they  had  just  come. 
The  young  man  was  still  thinking  of  the  fact 
that  another  man  had  kissed  Rowena's  hand  a 
short  time  ago,  and  that  he  might  have  been  in 
the  habit  of  doing  so. 

He  broke  out  in  a  startling  manner. 

"  Was  that  person  your  lover?" 

Rowena  reddened  furiously.  She  did  not  like 
to  think  of  that  kiss.  It  made  her  shudder  to 
remember  it. 

"  No,"  she  answered. 

"  Did  you  want  him  to  kiss  your  hand?" 

"No." 

Bradford  straightened  himself  and  opened  his 
lips  to  speak.  He  was  conscious  of  an  ecstatic 
gratitude.  But  he  hesitated  to  say  what  had 
rushed  from  his  heart  to  be  said. 

Instead,  he  remarked  that  he  supposed  his 
companion  had  not  been  expecting  those  people. 

But  Rowena  did  not  choose  to  be  catechized 
any  more  on  the  subject.  She  did  not  reply  at 
all. 

Bradford  bent  his  head  towards  her. 

"  Pardon  me,"  he  murmured.  "  I  know  I  have 
no  right.  I — " 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  303 

Here  Marmaduke  made  a  furious  leap  out  of 
his  mistress's  arm  at  a  squirrel  that  ran  across 
the  way.  She  started  after  him. 

"  I  would  not  have  him  catch  a  squirrel  for 
worlds !"  she  cried. 

Bradford  stood  still.  His  eyes  glittered  with 
something  like  ferocity.  At  that  instant  the 
terrier  could  not  have  confided  in  him  as  a 
friend. 

After  a  delay  of  rather  a  long  time,  and  after 
a  wrestle  in  the  underbrush,  Rowena  captured 
Marmaduke  and  again  put  him  under  her  arm. 

"  I  believe  you  took  that  dog  purposely,"  re 
marked  Bradford,  with  no  amiability  in  his  voice. 

"  Of  course  I  took  him  purposely,"  she  replied. 
"  You  did  not  think  it  was  accidental,  did  you  ? 
And  when  you  speak  of  Marmaduke  as  '  that 
dog  '  I  feel  as  if  you  did  not  respect  him,  and  as 
if  you  were  not  friendly  to  us." 

Bradford  now  offered  to  prove  his  respect  and 
friendship  by  carrying  the  terrier,  if  he  were  not 
going  to  run ;  "  but  why  not  let  him  run  ?"  look 
ing  with  ill-subdued  eagerness  at  Rowena. 

The  girl  answered  that  she  could  not  tell  ex 
actly  why  she  did  not  want  him  to  run  :  he  might 
catch  a  squirrel,  or  frighten  one,  and  he  was  so 
small  that  if  a  horse  and  carriage  came  along  he 
might  be  run  over;  and  she  should  never  get 
over  it  if — 


304  ROWENY.  IN    BOSTON. 

Here  Bradford  mutely  held  out  his  arms,  and 
Marmaduke  was  transferred  to  them.  It  oc 
curred  to  the  young  man  that  Mrs.  Sears  might 
better  have  presented  this  animal  to  some  one 
else ;  or  have  waited  before  giving  him  to  Miss 
Tuttle  until —  Bradford  did  not  formulate  this 
thought  very  clearly  in  his  mind. 

The  two  walked  on.  Bradford  had  a  sense  that 
he  could  not  adequately  say  what  he  wished  to 
say  while  he  was  carrying  a  dog ;  and  since  the 
dog  was  not  to  run,  he  had  believed  that  he 
would  prefer  to  have  him  rather  than  to  allow 
his  companion  to  have  him.  But  now  he  was  not 
sure  that  he  did  prefer  this  alternative.  He 
frowned  as  he  walked.  Marmaduke  appeared 
to  be  perfectly  contented.  There  was  not  the 
slightest  excuse  to  change  his  position. 

"  I  almost  believe  he  likes  you  as  well  as  he 
likes  me,"  remarked  Rowena,  after  a  while. 

"  Then  he  is  not  the  discriminating  dog  I 
thought  him.  I  could  dispense  with  his  com 
pany  just  now." 

"  Can  you  say  that  when  you  look  at  that  dis 
tracting  fluff  of  sweet  hair  on  his  head?" 

"  Miss  Tuttle,  I  am  not  here  to  talk  of  Marma 
duke." 

"  But  Marmaduke  being  here,  how  can  you 
help  talking  about  him  ?  Qh,  Mr.  Bradford,  are 
you  hurting  him  ?" 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  305 

"  Good  heavens  !  Don't  you  suppose  he  would 
cry  out  if  I  injured  him?" 

"  He  looked  as  if  he  were  just  going  to  cry 
out,"  said  Rowena.  "  Perhaps  his  little  feelings 
were  hurt  by  something  you  were  thinking  about 
him." 

"  Perhaps  they  were." 

At  this  point  in  the  conversation  the  two 
looked  at  each  other.  There  was  a  mischievous 
shining  in  the  girl's  eyes.  They  both  burst  out 
laughing.  In  the  midst  of  the  laughter  the  ter 
rier  made  a  dexterous  struggle  and  jumped  to  the 
ground. 

"You  did  not  mean  to  carry  him,  and  he  felt 
it." 

For  answer  Bradford  turned  rather  triumph 
antly  towards  his  companion. 

He  put  out  his  hand,  and  with  the  tips  of  his 
fingers  touched  her  arm.  These  fingers  were  not 
quite  steady.  She  shrank  involuntarily.  She  felt 
the  fire  of  his  eyes  on  her  face.  A  tumultuous 
rebellion  rose  in  her  heart.  Why  could  she  not 
have  warded  off  this  moment?  In  her  mind  she 
groped  wildly  for  some  means,  even  now,  of  avert 
ing  what  seemed  inevitable. 

Where  was  Marmaduke  ?  His  shrill  voice  re 
sponded  to  her  mental  question. 

She  stopped  suddenly  and  looked  back.  A 
woman  was  coming  rapidly  behind  them.  In  an- 


306  ROWENY   IN    BOSTON. 

other  moment  Rowena  saw  that  the  woman  was 
Marthy  S.  with  her  hemp  bag  in  her  hand. 

"I've  ben  hurryin'  's  fast  's  I  could  to  git  up 
to  ye  'fore  I  got  to  that  strip  er  woods  between 
here  'n'  old  Mr.  Gray's,"  she  said,  panting  as  she 
spoke  and  peering  sharply  at  both  the  faces  near 
her.  "  I  thought  I  shouldn't  be  afraid,  'twas  so 
mooney,  but  I  am  kind  er  'fraid  after  all.  I  s'pose 
you're  goin'  right  along.  You'd  better  intro- 
dooce  me,  Roweny.  I  ain't  acquainted  with  the 
gentleman." 

Rowena  introduced  Mr.  Bradford,  who  found 
it  very  difficult  to  be  civil.  If  he  had  done  pre 
cisely  what  he  was  tempted  to  do  he  would  have 
lifted  Marthy  S.  and  thrown  her  over  the  wall 
among  the  brakes  that  were  growing  there.  He 
now  thought  of  Marmaduke's  presence  with  some 
thing  like  pleasure. 

Rowena  was  walking  with  great  demureness 
the  other  side  of  Marthy  S.  The  terrier  was 
pacing  deliberately  just  ahead  of  her.  Bradford 
thrust  his  hands  deep  in  his  pockets  and  clinched 
them  there. 

Martha  S.  gave  them  a  minute  account  of  the 
reason  why  Mary  Jane  Jewett  had  given  her  own 
dress-maker  the  slip  and  had  decided  to  employ 
Martha  S.  while  she  (Miss  Jewett)  was  "fixin1." 
She  told  how  many  dress-makers  there  were  to 
be,  and  that  one  of  the  waists  was  to  be  shirred 


ROWENY   IN    BOSTON.  307 

all  up  and  down  the  front,  and  that  the  effect 
was  beyond  anything  she  had  ever  dreamed  of. 

"But  then  Mary  Jane  was  one  of  them  as  could 
carry  most  anything  off." 

The  dress-maker  expressed  the  conviction  that 
that  shirred  waist  would  be  very  much  liked  in 
Borston,  where  the  bride  was  going  to  reside. 
Marthy  S.  said  "  reside  "  for  the  first  time  in  her 
life.  She  said  it  out  of  deference  to  the  city  fel 
ler,  and  she  was  conscious  of  a  certain  feeling  of 
respect  towards  herself  as  a  woman  capable  of 
using  such  a  word. 

Her  spirits  rose.  She  thought  Rowena  had 
never  been  so  pleasant,  and  her  usual  estimate  of 
Hiram  Tuttle's  daughter  was  that  she  was  "  too 
stuck  up  for  anything." 

She  had  a  strong  sense  of  exultation  in  the 
prospect  of  relating,  the  particulars  of  this  in 
terview  at  the  place  where  she  was  going  to 
dress -make  Monday  morning.  It  was  a  trial 
to  her  that  a  Sunday  must  intervene.  But  she 
would  go  to  meeting.  There  were  many  ways 
in  which  a  woman  like  Marthy  S.  could  utilize 
going  to  meeting.  And  the  dress-maker  was 
one  who  never  wasted  an  opportunity  in  her 
line. 

This  party  had  not  walked  more  than  a  quar 
ter  of  a  mile  when  Rowena  paused.  She  began 
to  think  of  Miss  Foster  with  compunction.  She 


308  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

must  return.  That  piece  of  wood  was  now  visi 
ble  ahead  of  them. 

"  I  think  I  will  go  back,"  said  the  girl,  steadily 
ignoring  the  imploring  look  which  Bradford  fixed 
upon  her.  She  glanced  superficially  at  him  as 
she  went  on  to  say  that  perhaps  Mr.  Bradford 
would  be  so  kind  as  to  walk  with  Miss  Hancock 
through  the  wood. 

Then  she  said  good -night,  and  hurried  away 
from  them. 

Bradford,  in  spite  of  his  social  training,  was  for 
the  moment  absolutely  inarticulate  with  disap 
pointment  and  rage.  He  raised  his  hat  in  silence 
and  was  left  alone  with  Marthy  S.,  who  involun 
tarily  began  to  bridle  somewhat  in  acknowledg 
ment  on  her  part  of  being  left  alone  with  "  a  gen- 
tlemun." 

This  gentleman  was  thinking  that  to-morrow 
would  be  Sunday,  and  that  he  had  been  let  to 
know  unmistakably  by  Mrs.  Tuttle  that  she  did 
not  approve  of  having  visitors  on  Sunday. 

He  supposed  an  exception  would  be  made  in 
favor  of  a  regular  accredited  admirer  who  came 
for  Sunday  evenings.  But  he  was  not  occupy 
ing  that  enviable  position  in  regard  to  Rowena 
Tuttle. 

No ;  he  could  not  call  the  next  day.  And  here 
he  was,  stranded  as  it  were,  on  a  lonely  road  in 
the  moonlight  with  a  woman  who  had  a  hemp 


ROWENY   IN    BOSTON.  309 

bag,  and  who  kept  smirking  and  appearing  as  if 
she  were  going  to  make  a  remark,  but  who  had 
not  yet  made  one. 

Of  course,  on  Monday  he  meant  to  ride  his 
horse  to  Boston  beside  the  boat-cart.  But  there 
were  a  great  many  drawbacks  to  be  anticipated 
in  that  journey.  It  is  true  that  Bradford  had 
been  only  too  thankful  for  the  opportunity  to 
ride  beside  the  boat-cart  some  days  ago.  But  he 
had  got  beyond  that  period  now.  He  demanded 
a  great  deal  more  than  that  at  this  stage  of  his 
malady. 

Mr.  Reuben  Little  would  be  present.  It  was 
uncertain  whether  Mr.  Little  would  be  in  liquor 
or  not ;  probably  not,  as  it  would  be  the  day  after 
Sunday.  There  was,  however,  the  chance  of  a 
stroll  on  foot  along  some  lovely  bit  of  road  with 
Rowena. 

All  these  thoughts  went  flashing  through  Brad 
ford's  mind  as  he  stood  therewith  the  dress-maker. 

He  wondered  why  she  did  not  walk  on.  He 
offered  to  carry  her  bag.  She  was  confused  at 
his  offer,  but  did  eventually  relinquish  the  bag, 
telling  him  it  had  the  lining  of  Mary  Jane  Jew- 
ett's  wedding  basque  in  it. 

She  appeared  to  be  uncertain  whether  it  was 
proper  for  her,  under  the  circumstances,  to  con 
tinue  her  walk  or  to  wait  for  "the  gentlemun  " 
to  propose  it. 


3IO  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

Bradford,  after  a  few  moments  of  doubt  as  to 
her  intentions,  asked  if  they  should  not  go  on. 
So  they  went  on. 

He  did  not  try  to  talk.  He  was  too  deeply 
irritated.  But  he  was  kind ;  he  could  not  be 
otherwise. 

Marthy  S.  made  a  few  confused  observations, 
to  which  he  replied  as  well  as  he  could. 

He  accompanied  her  to  her  destination.  He 
delivered  up  the  bag  and  left  her  with  deferential 
respect. 

From  that  time  on  the  dress-maker  was  abso 
lutely  sure  that  "  that  Tuttle  girl  would  ketch 
that  feller  if  she  possibly  could  do  it.  It 
wouldn't  be  no  fault  of  her'n  if  she  didn't  ketch 
him." 

Among  all  the  people  for  whom  she  worked 
that  season  Marthy  S.  held  the  proud  position 
of  one  who  was  acquainted  with  the  man  that 
was  hanging  round  Roweny  Tuttle.  She  came 
to  be  rather  an  authority  concerning  him.  She 
told  what  she  thought  he  would  be  likely  to  do, 
and  what  he  would  not  be  likely  to  do. 

The  Monday  morning  was  clear  and  beautiful 
and  full  of  the  scents  of  late  spring.  Rowena 
had  a  companion  in  the  boat  with  her  besides 
her  Uncle  Reuben.  See  invited  Miss  Foster  to 
stay  over  Sunday  and  go  to  Boston  with  her. 
She  thought  such  an  unusual  trip  would  do  the 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  311 

girl  good.  The  lame  horse  was  left  in  charge  of 
Mr.  Tuttle,  who  was  to  go  to  the  stable  and  re 
port. 

"  It's  only  a  very  few  weeks  now  before  I  shall 
be  home  for  a  couple  of  months,  mother,"  Ro- 
wena  had  said. 

She  spoke  with  apparent  gayety,  and  her  moth 
er  replied  with  apparent  cheerfulness. 

So  she  went  back  for  the  second  time.  She 
felt  a  score  of  years  older. 

In  her  thoughts  there  was  constantly  the  let 
ter  from  Miss  Phillipps.  The  memory  of  it  was 
like  a  sore  place  in  her  consciousness. 

You  can  imagine  the  sensation  which  Keats 
Bradford  experienced  when  he  cantered  up  along 
side  the  boat  and  saw  Rowena's  companion.  He 
was  obliged  immediately  to  give  up  all  thought 
of  the  strolls  along  solitary  bits  of  road.  This 
renunciation  made  him  very  silent  and  very  un 
responsive  when  both  girls  eagerly  inquired  how 
he  found  his  horse,  and  if  it  had  been  injured  in 
any  way. 

When  Rowena  at  last  encountered  Bradford's 
eyes  she  felt  sorry  for  him.  Without  looking  at 
him,  without  speaking  to  him,  how  did  she  yet 
console  him  somewhat?  It  must  have  been  by 
a  process  in  connection  with  some  science  kin 
dred  to  thought  transference.  Was  there  a  subtle 
brain-wave  set  in  motion? 


312  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

As  she  came  nearer  and  nearer  to  Boston, 
Rowena's  resolution  to  write  to  Miss  Phillipps 
an  answer  to  her  letter  of  invitation  gradually 
changed  to  a  resolution  to  call  on  that  lady.  She 
had  never  been  to  that  house  on  Charles  Street 
save  by  special  invitation.  She  would  go  there. 
She  must  know  if  Miss  Phillipps  herself  would 
now  repel  her  as  her  written  words — or,  rather, 
the  words  she  had  not  written — had  done. 


ROWENY   IN    BOSTON.  313 


XXI. 

ON   CHARLES   STREET. 

THE  girl  returned  to  her  work  with  an  enthu 
siasm  which  sustained  and  animated  her.  While 
she  sat  at  her  easel  in  Allestree's  studio  on  Tre- 
mont  Street  she  found  that  she  could  think  with 
more  calmness  of  Miss  Phillipps's  fancied  cold 
ness. 

"  If  I  may  only  work,"  she  whispered  to  her 
self.  "  It  must  be  true  that  a  woman  may  be 
happy  that  way.  Miss  Phillipps  says  it  is  true. 
I  wonder  how  much  she  really  knows  about  it. 
She  makes  you  feel  as  if  she  knew,  and  that  is 
something." 

Rowena  was  surprised  at  the  warmth  of  Alles 
tree's  greeting. 

"It  is  worth  while  to  teach  a  pupil  like  you," 
he  had  remarked,  after  shaking  hands  with  her. 
"  It  makes  a  master's  life  endurable.  You  made 
some  sketches  out  there  in  the  country?  Ah! 
Let  me  see  them." 

He  instantly  selected  one  from  the  three  she 
gave  him.  His  face  lighted.  He  seized  his  beard 
after  his  manner  when  interested. 


314  ROWENY   IN   BOSTON. 

After  a  long  glance  at  the  sketch  of  some 
birches  standing  beside  a  narrow  brook,  he  put 
the  paper  down  and  held  out  both  his  hands. 

"  You'll  do,  Miss  Tuttle  ;  you'll  do,  if  you  only 
keep  on.  Take  courage.  How  good  your  draw 
ing  is  getting!  I  didn't  dare  to  praise  you  too 
much  before.  Girls  are  such  very  strange  beings 
— they  can't  take  praise  or  blame — they  fly  off  at 
the  strangest  tangents.  I've  been  watching  you. 
You  mean  business.  Painting  is  not  merely  a 
means  with  you — 'tis  an  end.  You  really  love 
it." 

Rowena  looked  up  at  the  man  with  a  glowing 
face.  She  could  hardly  speak  for  pride  and  joy. 

"  Oh,  indeed,  I  love  it !"  she  exclaimed,  in  an 
uneven  voice. 

"  I  know — I  know.  Now  if  you  were  a  young 
man,  I  should  have  no  hesitation  in  predicting 
your  future.  Being  a  girl — " 

Rowena  glanced  indignantly  at  him.  He  smiled 
indulgently.  He  was  in  a  pleasant  frame  of  mind. 

"  Don't  you  know  what  it  is  to  be  a  girl?  It 
is  to  love  some  man  and  marry  him,  and  put  your 
easel  up  in  the  attic." 

"  I  shall  not  put  my  easel  in  the  attic,"  she  re 
plied,  angrily. 

"We  shall  see.  I  hope  not.  If  you  do,  I  shall 
want  to  choke  the  man.  You  have  no  business 
to  marry." 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  315 

Rowena  worked  in  a  state  of  exaltation  much 
of  that  day.  It  was  the  first  after  her  return 
from  her  home. 

In  the  afternoon  she  walked  out  across  the 
Common.  She  lingered  there,  longing,  and  yet 
afraid,  to  seek  Miss  Phillipps. 

The  reaction  from  that  exalted  condition  was 
now  beginning.  As  she  went  aimlessly  down  a 
mall  she  felt  desolate  and  depressed.  If  it  were 
not  that  she  rarely  failed  to  adhere  to  a  resolu 
tion  she  would  have  gone  back  to  Hudson  Street. 

She   had   also  to  contend   against  the  wish 
which  was  now  almost  intolerable,  to  see  Miss 
Phillipps,  and  to  have  her  the  same  as  she  had 
been.     What  if  she  should  not  be  ?     What  if  that 
note  was  like  what  the  writer  of  it  now  was  ? 

When  she  could  bear  these  thoughts  no  longer 
Rowena  started  rapidly  for  Charles  Street.  She 
kept  up  her  pace  until  she  reached  the  very  door 
of  the  house. 

When  she  had  rung,  it  occurred  to  her  for  the 
first  time  that  it  was  very  probable  that  Miss 
Phillipps  would  not  be  at  home.  She  was  inter 
ested  in  so  many  things :  she  attended  so  many 
meetings. 

The  servant  who  opened  the  door  conducted 
Rowena  to  a  room  which  was  strange  to  her.  On 
the  wall  of  this  room  the  girl  immediately  saw  a 
portrait  of  the  mistress  of  the  house.  This  must 


316  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

be  Senour's  portrait,  which  Miss  Phillipps  had 
mentioned.  Rovvena  was  held  fast  before  it.  It 
was  just  as  the  original  of  that  portrait  had  said  : 
it  was  the  face  without  the  disdain  and  the  sug 
gestion  of  cruelty  in  it ;  a  refined  countenance, 
aristocratic,  but  somehow  lacking  in  a  certain 
incisive  power  which  was  characteristic  of  the 
woman  herself. 

Rowena  was  standing  thus  absorbed  when 
Miss  Phillipps  appeared  at  the  open  door,  com 
ing  noiselessly  over  the  thick  carpet.  She  paused 
on  the  threshold  and  gazed  at  the  girlish  figure. 
As  she  gazed  a  slight  contraction  stirred  her  feat 
ures.  Then  she  walked  forward  and  held  out  her 
hand. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Miss  Tuttle,"  she  said. 
"  Did  you  have  a  pleasant  visit  in  the  country?" 

Rowena  turned.  She  could  hardly  extend 
her  hand  in  response.  She  needed  no  more  than 
the  inflection  of  that  voice.  She  could  not  look 
at  the  speaker.  But  the  girl  was  not  without 
something  in  her  character  which  came  to  her 
aid  now.  With  the  knife-thrust  in  her  heart,  she 
held  herself  upright. 

"Thank  you,"  she  answered.  "  I  enjoyed  my 
visit.  But  I  am  glad  to  be  at  work  again." 

Miss  Phillipps  motioned  her  guest  to  a  seat. 
She  sat  down  near. 

"Yes,  work  is  a  great  thing,1'  she  said.      "I 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  317 

sometimes  wish  I  were  compelled  to  labor  in 
some  way  for  my  bread.  It  would  at  least  be  a 
new  sensation,  and  I  like  new  sensations." 

"  I  received  a  note  from  you,"  said  Rowena, 
after  a  little  pause.  "  As  I  was  coming  directly 
to  Boston,  I  waited  to  see  you  to  tell  you  that  I 
shall  not  be  able  to  accept  your  kind  invitation 
to  spend  a  week  or  two  with  you." 

She  uttered  these  commonplace  words  in  a 
steady  voice.  She  could  not  imagine  why  that 
invitation  had  been  given. 

She  rose. 

"  You  think  you  will  not  come  ?"  remarked 
Miss  Phillipps.  "  Don't  go  yet.  It  seems  to  me 
that  there  was  something  I  wished  to  say  to  you. 
Please  sit  down." 

Rowena  obeyed,  and  waited  silently. 

Miss  Phillipps  was  not  leaning  back  in  her 
chair  as  usual,  but  was  sitting  erect.  The  young 
girl  glanced  at  her.  The  lady  was  always  pale, 
but  she  was  very  pale  now.  Rowena  looked 
quickly  away.  She  hoped  she  would  not  be  kept 
there  long.  She  felt  a  wild,  sharp  feeling  of 
thankfulness  that  she  had  her  work. 

There  came  a  knock  on  the  door  which  Miss 
Phillipps  had  closed  when  she  entered.  A  serv 
ant  announced  that  Professor  Vacci  was  in  the 
reception-room. 

"  Tell  him  I  cannot  see  him,"  peremptorily. 


318  ROWENY   IN    BOSTON. 

Again  Rowena  rose.  Her  hostess  put  out  her 
hand. 

"  Stay,"  she  said. 

"Professor  Vacci  says  he  came  by  appoint 
ment,"  remarked  the  servant. 

"Tell  him  I  cannot  see  him,"  repeated  Miss 
Phillipps,  and  the  door  was  closed  again. 

Rowena  had  not  resumed  her  seat.  Now  the 
lady  rose  also  and  stood  gazing  at  the  girl  whose 
eyes  were  lowered,  for  she  needed  all  her  forces 
to  aid  in  the  struggle  of  this  moment. 

"  I  asked  you  to  visit  me  now,  because  it  was 
Mr.  Bradford's  wish  that  I  do  so." 

Miss  Phillipps  spoke  in  her  clearest  voice. 

A  color  rose  over  Rowena's  tense  face.  She 
did  not  think  it  necessary  to  reply. 

The  woman  watching  her  saw  the  color,  and  it 
had  a  curious  effect  upon  her.  She  seemed  to 
throw  away,  with  a  sudden  gesture  of  both 
hands,  the  somewhat  icy  calmness  which  had 
been  hers. 

"When  a  man,"  she  exclaimed,  "chooses  to 
assert  himself,  he  is  always  the  victor.  See! 
Because  my  cousin  Keats  fancies  this  or  that,  I 
must  yield.  It  were  indeed  a  waste  of  strength 
for  a  woman  to  contend  with  a  man,  and  that 
man  Keats  Bradford.  I  thought  it  must  be  my 
duty  to  retreat ;  but  I  have  changed  my  mind ; 
I  won't  retreat." 


ROWENY   IN   BOSTON.  319 

Miss  Phillipps's  eyes  were  flaming. 

"  I  am  used  to  having  what  I  want,"  she  said, 
"but  I  thought  it  was  for  your  good  not  to  try 
to  place  a  straw  in  the  way  of  his  love.  I  won't 
now,  if  you  return  it.  I  distrusted  myself.  I  tried 
to  make  myself  believe  I  was  really  like  your  por 
trait  of  me.  Perhaps  I  am.  Yes,  I  think  I  am. 
But  I  never  saw  any  one  like  you  before.  It 
may  be  I  have  seen  better  people,  but  never  one 
who  was  to  me  what  you  are.  It  is  not  what  a 
person  is,  but  what  he  is  to  you,  that  tells.  You 
may  read  a  thousand  hearts,  but  if  you  cannot 
read  mine,  if  I  cannot  read  yours,  what  is  it  all 
worth?  Do  you  know  he  told  me  not  to  hurt 
you  ?  Not  to  hurt  you  !" 

Gradually  Rowena's  face  had  been  changing. 
The  terrible  grip  upon  her  had  been  relaxing 
and  giving  place  to  something  which  she  was 
afraid  could  not  be  real. 

At  the  moment  when  Miss  Phillipps  had  spo 
ken  the  last  words  some  one  entered  and  paused 
just  within  the  room. 

"They  said  I  should  find  you  here,  Vanessa," 
said  Bradford. 

He  stopped  abruptly. 

"  You  need  not  go,"  said  his  cousin,  as  the 
young  man  now  turned,  with  a  murmured  apol 
ogy- 

But  he  could  not  stay.    The  jealousy,  he  could 


320  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

not  call  the  feeling  anything  else,  which  Vanessa 
had  awakened  in  him  became  just  now  very 
powerful.  He  had  wished  to  ignore  that  emo 
tion  as  something  unworthy  of  him.  He  had 
resolutely  acted  up  to  that  resolve  and  confided 
in  his  cousin. 

As  well  as  any  man  could  understand,  he  be 
lieved  that  he  understood  the  charm  which  acted 
and  reacted  between  these  two  women.  But 
how  long  would  it  last?  At  what  time  would 
his  moment  arrive  ?  Surely  it  must  arrive.  Was 
it  not  right  and  just  to  believe  that,  with  a 
woman,  it  is  the  masculine  element  which  at  last 
prevails  ? 

And  there  was  the  art  which  so  dominated  the 
woman  he  loved. 

Bradford  walked  rather  blindly  down  the 
street.  He  wanted  to  get  away  from  every 
body.  He  realized  that  he  had  a  great  deal  to 
contend  with.  He  was  conscious  that  he  should 
have  an  opportunity  to  test  his  waiting  powers 
to  their  fullest  capabilities.  And  the  end  of  it? 

He  could  still  see  Rowena's  face  as  she  had 
been  looking  at  his  cousin  when  he  had  entered 
the  room  just  now.  When  would  she  look  at 
him  like  that  ?  There  must  come  a  time  when 
she  would  do  it.  He  also  was  used  to  having 
what  he  wanted.  Yes,  there  must  come  a  time. 

Vanessa  must  have  been   thoroughly  in  ear- 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  321 

nest  in  what  she  had  said  to  him  on  the  Common 
of  her  interest  in  that  girl.  But  Vanessa  could 
not  change  her  nature.  Had  he  misunderstood 
his  cousin  all  these  years?  Impossible,  he  told 
himself.  Still  one  never  knows  precisely  when 
something  latent  will  suddenly  start  into  life  and 
rule  one ;  had  Rowena's  touch  roused  in  her 
friend  something  which  should  modify  what 
she  had  once  been  ? 

Bradford's  thoughts  ran  on  with  a  miserable, 
confused  haste. 

Within  the  room  the  two  stood  in  silence. 
The  younger  woman  almost  feared  that  she 
could  not  bear  this  swift  change  from  misery  to 
happiness.  She  clasped  her  hands  tightly  to 
gether.  She  was  looking  at  her  friend,  who  re 
turned  her  gaze. 

Miss  Phillipps  came  nearer.  She  put  her  hand 
on  Rowena's  shoulder. 

"  I  almost  thought  you  loved  him,"  she  said. 

"  I  was  greatly  attracted  to  him,"  Rowena  an 
swered,  "  because — 

Here  she  paused,  again  absorbed  in  the  eyes 
meeting  hers. 

"Because — "  repeated  Miss  Phillipps. 

"  Because  he  reminded  me  so  much  of  you." 

The  girl's  lips  trembled  under  the  stress  of  her 
feeling. 

"Ah !"  said  Miss  Phillipps,  in  her  softest  tone. 


322  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

Late  that  evening  a  messenger  boy  brought  a 
note  from  Bradford  to  his  cousin. 

"  I  am  leaving  town  for  an  indefinite  time," 
he  wrote.  "  But  I  give  nothing  up.  I  can  wait. 
Do  you  remember  what  the  French  say : 

"  '  To-day  to  thee. 
To-morrow  to  me?'" 


ROWENY   IN    BOSTON.  323 


XXII. 

ALLESTREE'S  PROPOSITION. 

PERHAPS  it  was  simply  because  human  nature, 
particularly  feminine  human  nature,  has  so  many 
phases,  that  Rowena,when  at  last  she  left  Charles 
Street  that  afternoon,  was  conscious  of  some  feel 
ing  besides  that  of  supreme  happiness. 

Still  she  was  so  happy  that  she  was  almost 
successful  in  ignoring  that  emotion  to  which  she 
gave  no  name. 

Miss  Phillipps  had  never  been  more  tenderly 
charming.  She  may  also  have  been  a  trifle  tri 
umphant. 

Rowena  had  never  more  entirely  surrendered 
her  fancy,  and  perhaps  her  heart,  to  the  woman 
whose  wish  it  was  to  enthrall  her. 

The  girl  had  listened  eagerly  as  she  sat  at  the 
lady's  feet  in  that  half -lighted,  elegant  room. 
The  portrait  by  Senour  had  looked  down  upon 
them. 

Miss  Phillipps  had  talked  of  many  plans,  and 
in  all  of  them  Rowena  filled  a  part.  The  voice 
was  at  its  softest,  the  face  at  its  gentlest  and 


324  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

best.  But  with  that  caution  which  is  so  often 
a  characteristic  of  New  England  rural  nature, 
Rowcna  could  not  give  an  unreserved  affirma 
tive  to  the  words  she  heard.  But  they  charmed 
her. 

The  long  June  twilight  was  gone,  and  a  dusk, 
odorous  even  here  in  the  city, was  coming  among 
the  trees  on  the  Common  when  Rowena  rose  to 
go  back  to  her  shabby  little  room  and  to  the 
Yorkshire.  This  latter  individual  had  been  try 
ing  to  beguile  his  ennui  by  a  complete  destruc 
tion  of  a  pin-cushion  which  Georgie  Warner  had 
made  and  presented  to  the  friend  who  had  gone 
to  Boston  to  learn  to  paint. 

This  article  was  constructed  of  infinitesimal 
fragments  of  silk,  laboriously  sewed  together  and 
stuffed  with  bran.  It  was  in  the  midst  of  this 
bran  that  Marmaduke  was  lying  in  peaceful  slum 
ber,  awaiting  the  return  of  his  mistress. 

It  was  not  until  Rowena  had  strolled  some 
what  vaguely  two  or  three  times  up  and  down 
the  Beacon  Street  Mall,  and  not  until  she  had 
been  some  time  out  of  Miss  Phillipps's  presence, 
that  she  suddenly  became  aware  that  she  was 
thinking  of  Bradford's  face  as  it  had  been  at 
that  moment  when  he  had  stood  within  the  door 
of  the  room  and  looked  at  the  two  women.  Ro 
wena  had  not  known  she  had  seen  him  so  plain 
ly,  but  now  he  came  before  her  with  a  vividness 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  325 

which  made  a  red  color  rise  even  to  her  fore 
head. 

The  love  and  the  disappointment  in  the  man's 
eyes  were  working  an  effect.  It  is  a  curious  truth 
that  pity  really  has  so  much  to  do  with  that  feel 
ing  which  is  said  to  be  akin  to  it. 

And  now  Rowena  was  sorry  for  Bradford.  It 
cannot  be  expected  that  a  girl  can  imagine  that 
a  man  may  possibly  find  some  consolations,  or 
that  he  may  occasionally  think  on  subjects  un 
connected  with  her. 

She  began  to  walk  very  fast.  She  crossed 
Tremont  Street  and  almost  ran  down  Winter 
Street.  Her  mind  was  hurrying  like  her  feet, 
but,  unlike  them,  that  was  hurrying  blindly. 

How  unspeakably  shabby  Hudson  Street  look 
ed  under  the  light  of  the  lamps!  And  how  out 
of  place  the  sweet  June  sky  seemed,  bending 
above  that  thoroughfare. 

When  she  drew  nearer  the  house,  Rowena  be 
gan  to  walk  more  slowly.  She  attempted  to  ar 
range  and  classify  the  tumult  in  her  mind.  She 
found,  as  is  generally  the  case,  that  tumult  will 
not  be  arranged  and  classified. 

Three  girls  who  were  very  late  were  just  giv 
ing  their  supper  tickets  to  Mrs.  Jarvis  at  her 
small  table.  It  made  Rowena  sick  to  see  the 
girls  and  the  tickets  and  the  table. 

She  hastened  up  the  stairs  and  entered  her  room. 


326  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

Marmaduke  rose  from  the  bureau  and  from 
the  bran  which  had  once  been  a  pin-cushion.  He 
stretched  himself,  yawned,  and  then  frantically 
vibrated  his  short  tail  and  his  little  body. 

His  mistress  caught  him  up  to  her  neck. 

"  Oh,  my  sweetheart !  My  darling  !  My  only 
Yorkshire  love  !"  she  exclaimed. 

He  enthusiastically  licked  her  face.  He  knew 
very  well  that  he  was  her  only  Yorkshire  love. 
He  would  have  been  very  dull  indeed  if  he  had 
not  known,  having  been  told  a  great  many  times 
since  his  residence  with  her.  He  was  doubtless 
conscious  that  there  was  now  an  extraordinary 
fervor  in  this  assurance,  for  his  response  was  pro 
portionately  ardent. 

Rovvcna  spent  a  feverish  night,  in  which  she 
was  not  able  to  distinguish  between  her  waking 
and  sleeping  visions. 

She  was  very  glad  when  the  time  came  for  her 
to  go  to  the  studio.  Whatever  confusion  there 
might  be  in  her  thoughts  about  other  matters, 
there  was  no  confusion  about  her  work.  Her 
devotion  to  that  was  clear  as  ever. 

After  some  of  the  drudgery  of  learning  has 
been  gone  through  there  are  days  when  one 
seems  to  work  as  if  by  inspiration.  Ideas  are 
lucid, and  the  hand  unerringly  follows  their  guid 
ance.  It  was  so  with  Rowena  for  the  next  few 
days.  And  she  was  so  young  and  had  had  so 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  327 

little  experience  that  she  almost  believed  that 
she  could  continue  to  work  thus.  There  was  no 
outward  occurrence  to  intrude  itself.  She  did 
not  see  Miss  Phillipps,  who  had  been  called  out 
of  town,  and  who  would  remain  a  week. 

Allestree,  walking  about  -among  the  few  stu 
dents  that  the  early  summer  had  left  with  him, 
was  continually  stopping  by  Rowena's  easel.  His 
glance  was  warm  with  approval,  but  he  refrained 
from  speaking  until  just  as  the  hour  had  expired. 
He  saw  the  girl  linger,  loath  to  leave  her  canvas. 

"  Stay  a  moment,  Miss  Tuttle,"  he  said,  "  I 
have  something  to  say  to  you." 

She  began  cleaning  her  brushes,  trying  not  to 
be  too  eager  to  know  what  he  would  speak  about. 
There  was  a  deep  flush  on  her  cheeks,  but  her 
hands,  as  an  artist's  hands  should  be,  were  per 
fectly  steady. 

When  the  two  were  alone  the  master  said, 
abruptly, 

"  I  suppose  you  would  like  to  study  in  Paris?" 

The  girl  looked  at  him.  She  grew  pale.  Then 
she  said  : 

"Yes.  But  I  cannot  do  it.  I  don't  wish  to 
talk  about  it." 

"  But  we  will  talk  about  it,"  was  the  autocrat 
ic  response.  "  I  have  decided.  A  pupil  whom  I 
recommend,  as  I  shall  recommend  you,  is  to  be 
sent  abroad  by  a  fund  which  was  placed  in  my 


328  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

hands  for  the  purpose  of  furthering  worthy  art 
study.  Mind  you,  it  is  an  impersonal  affair.  It 
is  for  art.  The  thing  is  often  done.  Recall  the 
scholarships  in  colleges.  You  need  not  look  so 
proud,  Miss  Tuttle.  This  is  no  charity.  And 
you  would  have  to  live  as  economically  as  you 
do  now — possibly  more  so.  But  think  of  the  op 
portunities  !" 

"  Is  all  this  just  as  you  tell  me,  about  the 
fund?" 

The  voice  was,  by  a  great  effort,  made  steady 
as  it  put  this  question. 

"Just  as  I  tell  you.  If  you  care,  if  you  really 
care,  young  woman,  you  may  be  an  artist.  But 
to  be  one  you  must  work,  work,  work.  Do  you 
care?" 

Allestree  seized  his  beard  firmly  in  his  left 
hand,  and  the  diamond  on  his  finger  sent  a  spark 
right  into  Rowena's  eyes.  She  stood  up  very 
straight.  Her  head  was  flung  back.  Her  eyes 
were  a  great  deal  brighter  than  the  diamond. 

"  Do  I  care?"  she  cried  out,  sharply. 

Allestree  gave  a  short  laugh,  and  walked  half 
down  the  studio  and  back  again. 

"  When  will  you  go  ?"  he  questioned. 

"  To-morrow — to-day,"  was  the  answer. 

All  at  once  her  brilliant  glance  softened.  Her 
face  quivered. 

"  What  is  the  matter?"  he  asked. 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  329 

"  I  was  thinking  of  my  mother — my  father,"  she 
said,  brokenly.  "  It  is  very  far  away — that  Paris." 

She  put  a  hand  over  her  eyes. 

"  Now  don't  be  womanish  !"  he  said,  angrily. 

"Yes,  I  will  be  womanish,  too  !"  she  answered. 
"  But  I  will  go  all  the  same." 

The  man  laughed  again,  well  pleased. 

It  was  all  she  could  do  not  to  begin  to  weep 
tempestuously.  But  she  did  not  weep. 

"  We  will  talk  about  this  to-morrow,"  remarked 
Allestree,  with  more  consideration.  "  You  will 
not  go  till  the  early  fall.  There  will  be  time  to 
arrange  everything." 

There  was  time  to  arrange  everything — time 
even  for  Marthy  S.  to  call  on  the  Tuttle  family, 
ostensibly  as  a  delegate  from  the  entire  respect 
able  portion  of  the  neighborhood,  and  remon 
strate  with  Mrs.  Tuttle  for  letting  her  daughter 
go  into  foreign  parts.  They  had  all  heard  of 
Paris,  Marthy  S.  said.  It  was  a  place  where  ev 
ery  woman  was  bad  and  every  man  worse.  She 
suggested  for  the  hundredth  time  that  if  Rowe- 
ny  must  still  continue  to  learn  to  paint,  though 
if  she  had  common  faculties  she  must  know  how 
by  this  time,  then,  that  she  take  lessons  of  that 
woman  who  came  out  to  the  Corners  "  on  pur 
pose  to  teach  girls  like  Roweny."  And  this 
woman  was  known  to  paint  hollyhocks  beyond 
everything. 


330  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

Mrs.  Tuttle  listened  with  a  pale  and  patient 
face  to  all  this  talk.  But  her  cheeks  burned  when 
Marthy  S.  incidentally  remarked  that  everybody 
thought  that  "if  Roweny  could  have  caught  that 
Borston  feller  that  pretended  to  want  her,  there 
never'd  ben  no  talk  'bout  goin'  to  Paris  to  learn 
to  paint." 

Thus  the  dress -maker  kindly  related  to  the 
Tuttles  the  prevailing  gossip,  and  the  Tuttles 
suffered  therefrom. 

When  Rowena  informed  Miss  Phillipps  of  the 
good -fortune  which  had  befallen  her  through 
Allestree's  commendation,  she  looked  with  un 
controllable  suspicion  at  that  lady.  But  Miss 
Phillipps  bore  her  look  with  a  perfectly  innocent 
air.  She  did  not  seem  to  see  it.  And  it  was  not 
until  midsummer  that  she  wrote  that  she  had 
made  up  her  mind  to  go  abroad  with  Rowena. 
She  had  long  been  thinking  of  going  again,  and 
when  could  she  hope  to  be  so  happy  as  in  making 
the  journey  in  such  company? 

Mrs.  Tuttle  felt  a  load  lifted  from  her  heart  at 
this  news.  It  had  been  dreadful  to  her  that  her 
daughter  should  go  ;  still  more  dreadful  that  she 
should  go  alone,  or  in  the  care  of  some  stranger. 

Before  this  proposition  of  Allestree's,  Miss  Phil 
lipps  had  asked  that  the  girl  might  spend  part  of 
the  summer  with  her,  but  now  she  said  it  was  no 
more  than  just  that  the  mother  should  have  her. 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  331 

Frequent  letters,  brief  but  telling,  came  hurry 
ing  out  to  the  remote  hamlet  from  the  mount 
ains  and  the  sea-side.  Rowena  read  them  eager 
ly.  Everything  seemed  unreal  to  her  now.  She 
used  to  ask  the  terrier  if  he  were  her  own  terrier, 
or  if  he  would  suddenly  vanish.  He  replied  by 
not  vanishing. 

The  girl  and  the  dog  would  walk  down  that 
road  where  they  had  walked  with  Keats  Brad 
ford  when  that  gentleman  had  been  so  irritating- 
ly  treated  by  both  the  girl  and  the  dog.  In  these 
walks  the  girl  would  recall  that  the  gentleman 
had  been  very  forbearing.  She  would  also  recall 
some  of  the  glances  which  had  come  from  his 
eyes.  Whether  Marmaduke  also  thought  of  Brad 
ford  it  was  impossible  to  tell ;  if  he  did  so,  the 
memory -did  not  in  the  least  interfere  with  his 
brisk  cheerfulness  of  demeanor.  A  terrier  may 
be  brimful  of  love,  but  he  is  never  sentimental. 

But  do  not  let  it  be  understood  that  Rowena 
spent  much  time  in  yielding  to  sentiment  in  these 
days.  She  had  too  many  other  occupations.  By 
Allestree's  advice  she  did  not  touch  her  brushes 
and  paints.  But  she  began  a  struggle  with  the 
French  language,  and  as  this  struggle  was  begun 
and  carried  on  alone  during  those  quickly-flying 
weeks  of  summer,  it  was  bewildering  to  an  ex 
tent  that  terrified  her.  She  had  heard  some 
French  words  spoken  by  Miss  Phillipps  ;  they 


332  ROWENY    IN    DOSTON. 

had  rolled  so  glibly  off  that  lady's  facile  tongue 
that  Rowena  had  been  pleased  with  them. 

As  the  girl  had  a  quick  mind  and  an  enviable 
share  of  resolution,  she  soon  acquired  a  good  idea 
of  the  forms  of  verbs  and  genders  when  she  saw 
the  words  written  down.  But  afterwards  she 
hardly  knew  if  this  arduous  effort  was  of  much 
benefit. 

It  became  noised  through  Middle  Village,  and 
even  beyond  the  Corners,  that  Hiram  Tuttle's 
daughter  was  not  only  going  to  some  outlandish 
place  about  that  painting  notion  of  hers,  but  that 
she  was  actually  trying  to  learn  to  talk  in  some 
outlandish  tongue;  "just  as  if  our  own  talk  wa'n't 
good  enough  for  her!" 

"  Be  you  really  learnin'  to  talk  foreign  ?"  in 
quired  Georgie  Warner  with  some  awe  one  even 
ing  when  the  two  girls  were  walking  arm  in  arm 
on  the  road  between  their  two  homes.  Georgie 
had  entirely  recovered  from  the  illness  caused  by 
her  lover's  disposition  to  yield  to  the  blandish 
ments  of  Mary  Jane  Jewett.  She  was  now  in 
the  full  tide  of  the  production  of  marvellous 
wedding  bedquilts.  She  rarely  conversed  upon 
any  topic  not  connected  with  her  "  things,"  or 
with  the  goodness  of  Jim  Townshend. 

This  question  concerning  Rowena's  studies  was 
put  as  a  concession  to  Gcorgie's  interest  in  one 
who  was  not  even  engaged,  and  who  was  only 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  333 

going  to  Paris.  Georgia  felt  that  her  friend  was 
getting  very  odd,  but  her  love  for  her  did  not 
abate.  She  always  made  it  a  point  to  "  stand 
up "  loyally  for  Rowena  if  any  one  spoke  the 
slightest  derogatory  word.  She  had  even  gone 
so  far  as  to  refuse  to  have  Marthy  S. "  put  a  sin 
gle  stitch  into  a  single  one  of  her  things."  The 
result  of  this  decision  was  that  the  story  of  Jim 
Townshend's  infatuation  with  Miss  Jewett  was 
disseminated  over  a  frightful  extent  of  country, 
and  many  people  were  led  to  believe  that  this 
infatuation  was  even  now  at  its  height,  and  that 
the  Warner  girl  insisted  upon  holding  on  to  Mr. 
Townshend,  notwithstanding  that  gentleman's 
pronounced  desire  not  to  be  held  on  to. 

In  answer  to  Georgie's  question,  Rowena  re 
plied  that  she  had  begun  to  try  to  learn  French, 
but  she  found  she  could  not  do  much  without  a 
teacher. 

Georgie  had  about  the  same  horror  of  French 
as  a  language  that  she  felt  towards  champagne 
as  a  wine.  They  both  expressed  to  her  the  height 
of  dissolute  wickedness. 

She  could  not  help  shuddering  somewhat  at 
her  friend's  reply.  Then  it  was  true. 

"  I  hope  you  know  best,"  she  remarked.  And 
she  began  to  describe  the  pattern  of  some  "  cro 
chet  edgin'  "  which  was  to  be  the  crowning  glory 
of  a  white  morning-dress. 


334  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

Rowena  did  not  know  what  became  of  the 
days.  As  the  summer  advanced,  the  girl's  feel 
ing  of  shrinking  and  of  regret  became  stronger 
and  stronger.  It  seemed  to  her  that  she  sat  for 
whole  hours  looking  at  her  mother  as  she  went 
back  and  forth  in  the  house  about  her  work.  She 
helped  in  the  work  with  an  eager  desire  to  do  all 
she  could. 

She  now  was  continually  thinking  of  that  mo 
ment  when  she  should  put  her  arms  around  her 
mother's  neck  for  the  last  time  before  she  began 
the  journey.  She  almost  came  to  believe  that 
that  last  moment  would  kill  her.  But  she  did 
not  think  of  retreating.  She  must  go.  It  was 
her  destiny,  her  life-work.  She  must  go  where 
she  could  learn  what  she  so  longed  to  know. 

Mrs.  Tuttle  felt  her  child's  gaze  like  a  knife 
in  her  heart.  She  could  not  meet  it,  or  only  mo 
mentarily.  She  was  afraid  that,  if  she  looked  full 
in  those  young,  stainless  eyes,  she  should  break 
down  and  beg  the  girl  not  to  go  so  far  from  her. 
And  she  wanted  her  to  go.  It  was  Rowena's 
chance.  She  must  not  throw  it  away.  It  was 
not  a  matter  of  much  surprise  to  the  mother  that 
Rowena  should  have  such  an  opportunity,  Ro 
wena  being  what  she  was. 

The  two  carefully  avoided  any  talk  on  the  sub 
ject.  Their  conversation  was  what  one  might  al 
most  have  called  deliriously  cheerful.  Mr.  Tut- 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  335 

tie,  when  he  came  into  the  porch  for  a  drink  of 
water,  would  sometimes  hear  them  laughing 
loudly.  As  he  drew  the  back  of  his  brown  hand 
across  his  dripping  lips  after  his  draught,  he 
would  mutter  that  women  were  the  strangest 
beings  the  Lord  ever  created.  He  did  not  laugh. 
It  was  only  by  a  distinct  effort  that  he  could 
smile  in  those  days.  He  supposed  it  was  a  great 
thing  for  his  daughter  to  be  able  to  go  to  Paris, 
but  he  could  not  help  wishing  that  she  did  not 
want  to  go,  that  she  was  more  like  some  other 
girls.  Still,  if  she  were  more  like  them  he  would 
not  be  so  proud  of  her.  He  used  to  won 
der  what  had  become  of  that  Bradford  fellow. 
And  what  had  Rowcna  thought  of  him?  He 
knew  of  no  way  of  rinding  out.  There  was  no 
way  of  finding  out  much  of  anything  about 
women. 

Immersed  in  these  gloomy  thoughts,  he  was 
walking  slowly  along  through  his  potato  field 
one  August  day,  with  meditations  concerning 
potato-bugs  mingled  with  everything  else  in  his 
mind,  when  he  saw  some  one  coming  quickly 
across  the  pasture  beyond. 

In  a  moment  more  he  recognized  Philip  Bar 
rett.  That  young  man  strode  along  as  if  pos 
sessed  by  a  very  strong  propelling  idea.  He 
paused  suddenly  when  he  saw  Mr.  Tuttle. 

"Is  Roweny  to  home?"  he  asked,  in  that  ag- 


336  ROWENY   IN   BOSTON. 

gressive  tone  which  a  definite  resolution  will 
sometimes  give  to  one's  voice. 

"  I  guess  she  is.  I  heard  she  V  her  mother 
laughin'  jest  now  when  I  was  to  the  house  for  a 
drink." 

That  they  should  laugh  struck  Philip  in  much 
the  same  way  as  the  fact  had  affected  Mr.  Tuttle. 

Philip  continued  his  walk  for  a  few  rods.  Then 
he  returned  quickly.  His  face  had  been  tanned 
the  color  of  bronze,  and  his  honest  eyes  looked 
out  from  it  with  a  strange  intentness  that  re 
vealed  his  excitement. 

He  struck  his  hand  on  top  of  a  post. 

"  I  ain't  thought  of  nothin'  else,"  he  said.  "  Mr. 
Tuttle,  why  don't  you  stop  her  goin'  ?  Why  don't 
you  put  your  foot  down  ?  It's  for  her  good." 

Mr.  Tuttle  shuffled  uneasily.  He  picked  off 
a  potato-bug  and  carefully  ground  it  under  his 
heel. 

"  I  know  'tain't  my  business,"  went  on  the 
young  man.  "  But  I've  loved  her  all  my  life — 
I  can't  stop  lovin'  her." 

He  paused  and  clinched  his  hand  on  top  of  the 
post. 

After  a  silence  he  asked,  "  Don't  you  know 
what  Paris  is,  Mr.  Tuttle  ?  Ain't  you  never 
heard  ?  I've  ben  readin'  a  lot  about  it  sence  I 
knew  Rowcny  was  goin'." 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  337 


XXIII. 

CONCLUSION. 

HIRAM  TUTTLE  looked  anxiously  at  the  man 
the  other  side  of  the  fence. 

"  I  s'pose  it's  jest  like  other  big  places,"  he 
said.  "  Of  course  there's  a  good  deal  of  wick 
edness  there,  but  Roweny  won't  be  in  that  part 
of  it." 

"  She  can't  help  it,"  returned  young  Barrett. 
"  You  don't  seem  to  realize  ;  you — "  He  stopped 
from  inability  to  find  words  powerful  enough. 
He  could  not  endure  this  feeling  of  helplessness. 
He  was  sure  that  there  were  words  that  would 
express  what  he  wanted  to  say  if  he  could  only 
find  them. 

From  the  first  he  had  had  that  vague,  but 
strong,  distrust  of  all  outlandish  things,  particu 
larly  of  French  things,  which  is  ingrained  in  the 
ignorant  and  suspicious  countryman.  But  he 
had  a  desire  to  be  just.  A  few  weeks  before  he 
had  ridden  ten  miles  to  a  town  where  there  was 
a  book- store;  He  had  asked  the  clerk  for  a 
"book  about  Paris."1  He  could  not  tell  what  he 


338  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

wanted  clearer  than  that  the  volume  should  be 
concerning  that  city.  The  store  was  not  very 
large  and  its  stock  was  mostly  of  a  certain  kind. 
The  clerk  suggested  The  Mysteries  of  Paris  as 
being  about  what  his  customer  desired.  Philip 
bought  the  book,  and  since  then  he  had  been 
slowly  poring  over  Sue's  lurid  pages.  His  worst 
apprehensions  were  more  than  confirmed.  He 
was  driven  over  to  the  Tuttle  homestead  by  a 
terror  for  Rowena's  future.  What  were  they 
thinking?  Rowena !  Philip  Barrett  was  frantic. 
And  when  a  slow,  somewhat  phlegmatic  nature 
is  wrought  up  to  this  stage  the  result  is  pitiable. 

He  gazed  at  Mr.  Tuttle,  who  looked  back  at 
him  and  then  picked  another  potato-beetle  and 
destroyed  it,  this  time  with  two  stones. 

Philip  actually  gasped.  Could  not  he  make 
even  the  girl's  own  father  know  what  a  place 
Paris  was  ?  He  had  not  the  power  of  gesticula 
tion,  and  he  had  not  the  power  of  words.  He 
thrust  his  hands  deep  into  his  pockets  and  shut 
them  furiously  there. 

"  D it !"  he  cried  out.  Then  he  walked 

quickly  down  towards  the  house,  leaving  Mr. 
Tuttle  strongly  impressed  by  words  which  he 
had  never  before  heard  the  young  man  use. 

Philip  saw  Rowena  standing  on  a  ladder,  which 
was  placed  against  a  tree  of  late  cherries  at  the 
back  of  the  house.  She  had  a  two-quart  "  rind  " 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  339 

tied  to  her  waist,  and  was  putting  cherries  into 
it.  Marmaduke  was  leisurely  nosing  every  cher 
ry  that  fell  to  the  ground.  He  looked  up  and 
barked  when  he  was  aware  of  Philip's  ap 
proach. 

Rowena  quickly  descended  and  advanced  to 
meet  her  visitor.  She  had  hoped  to  see  him  be 
fore  she  left  home.  But  she  paused  and  almost 
shrank  when  she  noticed  his  face. 

"  Is  anything  the  matter?"  she  asked. 

Philip  seized  her  by  the  arm. 

"  You  can't  go,"  he  said.  "  It's  a  horrible  place 
— a  Sodom.  I've  ben  readin'  all  about  it.  I— 
Oh,  you  can't  go  !" 

He  had  hoped  he  should  be  given  some  words. 
It  was  all  so  clear  to  him  ;  why  could  not  he  make 
it  clear  to  those  who  ought  to  understand? 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  said  the  girl, 
slowly. 

"  I  mean  Paris.    YOU  can't  go." 

"  Please  don't  talk  like  that,"  sajd  Rowena, 
"  because  I  shall  go  if  I  live.  I  am  to  learn  all 
about  painting  there." 

The  man  felt  his  strength  leaving  him.  He 
was  powerless  then.  He  had  not  seen  Rowena 
for  many  months ;  now  to  stand  near  her  and 
hear  her  voice,  to  be  indefinitely  and  hopelessly 
aware  that  to  him  she  was  more  charming  than 
ever,  and  to  l<no\v  that  he  could  not  prevent  her 


340  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

from  going  to  Paris — how  was  he  to  endure  all 
this?  And  he  could  not  possibly  find  words  to 
tell  all  he  knew  about  Paris.  He  was  sure  if  he 
could  only  tell  he  should  be  able  to  convince 
even  Rowena. 

Neither  of  them  noticed  that  a  carriage  had 
driven  quickly  up  to  the  front  of  the  house.  Nei 
ther  noticed  that  Marmaduke  had  dashed  round 
and  was  now  barking  a  welcome.  The  terrier 
immediately  returned,  conducting  a  lady,  whose 
glance  directly  saw  the  group  under  the  cherry- 
tree. 

She  paused  slightly  in  her  walk.  The  two  by 
the  tree  were  very  much  in  earnest ;  they  did  not 
yet  know  of  her  approach. 

It  was  Rowena  who  turned  and  uttered  a 
quick  exclamation  of  relief  and  joy. 

Barrett  also  turned,  and  he  immediately  knew 
the  stranger  as  the  woman  whom  he  had  seen  at 
the  play  in  Boston,  Rowena's  friend. 

He  stepped  forward  and  reached  Miss  Phil- 
lipps  with  one  long  stride,  as  it  seemed.  He  did 
not  wait  for  any  greetings  from  anybody,  but  the 
lady  silently  put  forth  her  hand,  with  its  exqui 
site  gray  glove,  and  took  the  girl's  cherry-stained 
fingers  closely. 

"You  are  the  one  that  can  stop  it,"  said  Bar 
rett,  with  heavy  emphasis.  "  If  you  don't  know 
about  that  place,  and  that  'tain't  fit  for  a  girl  to 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  341 

go  to,  I  c'n  tell  you.  I've  read  a  whole  book 
about  it.  It's  worse  'n  Sodom." 

The  young  man  paused.  The  pale,  high  face 
and  incisive  glance  were  not  affected  by  his 
words,  save  that  the  glance  softened  in  a  kind 
of  pity,  touched  with  contempt. 

"Do  you  mean  Paris?"  asked  Miss  Phillipps. 

"Yes."  Philip  raised  his  voice,  "  I  tell  you  it's 
worse  'n'— 

"But  I  shall  be  with  her,"  interrupted  Miss 
Phillipps,  calmly,  "and  I  know  my  Sodom  veiy 
well."  She  turned  to  Rowena,  now  ignoring  Bar 
rett  completely.  "  I  came  for  you,  dear.  It  is 
better  to  go  sooner.  We  will  take  a  Cunard 
from  Boston  to-morrow." 

Barrett  did  not  know  what  a  Cunard  was,  but 
he  knew  Rowena  would  go  to-morrow.  His  head 
sunk.  He  did  not  try  to  speak.  Of  what  use 
was  it  trying  to  speak  ? 

With  his  head  still  down  he  walked  towards  the 
road.  At  the  gate  a  slight  figure  came  to  his  side. 
Two  hands  caught  his  hand,  which  hung  inertly. 

"  Good-bye,  dear  Philip,"  said  Rowena.  "  Don't 
worry.  Paris  shall  not  hurt  me.  Good-bye." 

Sitting  with  the  Tuttle  family  that  evening, 
Miss  Phillipps  explained  how  some  friends  of 
hers  had  given  up  going  on  the  next  steamer, 
and  that  she  and  Rowena  could  have  their  rooms, 
changing  boats  with  them  ;  it  was  a  better  boat ; 


342  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

it  was  every  way  better  than  the  one  in  which 
they  had  expected  to  go,  and  it  was  only  two 
weeks  earlier. 

Mrs.  Tuttle  was  somewhat  bewildered  by  this 
stranger.  She  could  not  think  of  disputing  what 
was  wished.  She  only  said,  with  a  quiver  in  her 
voice,  not  daring  to  look  at  her  daughter, 

"We  could  have  had  her  two  weeks  longer." 

Miss  Phillipps  leaned  towards  the  mother  in 
that  way  Rowena  knew  so  well. 

"  I  know,"  she  said,  with  penetrating  gentle 
ness,  "  but  I  will  take  care  of  her." 

Mrs.  Tuttle  breathed  heavily.  Her  toughened 
hands  gripped  together  tightly  as  they  lay  on 
the  faded  gingham  apron.  But  she  said  nothing 
more. 

And  so  Rowena  went  early  the  next  morning. 
Her  father  could  only  tell  her,  as  he  had  told  her 
when  she  had  gone  to  Boston  for  the  first  time, 
that  she  must  "keep  straight.  The  Tuttles  al 
ways  had  kept  straight." 

During  the  journey  to  the  city  Miss  Phillipps 
hardly  spoke.  She  sat  back  in  her  seat,  glancing 
sometimes  from  under  half -closed  lids  at  her 
companion,  who  did  not  lean  back,  but  who  sat 
rigid. 

When  the  train  had  reached  its  destination, 
Rowena  roused  and  asked  if  there  were  time  for 
her  to  see  Mr.  Allestree.  She  seemed  greatly 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  343 

disappointed  to  learn  that  her  master  was  out  of 
town. 

"  I  wanted  to  ask  him  before  I  start  if  he  knew 
who  gave  the  fund." 

"  He  told  me  he  did  not  know,"  replied  Miss 
Phillipps.  "  I  hope  you  are  not  fighting  against 
good-fortune." 

"  No,  no.  But  if  it  were  not  just  as  he  says,  it 
would  be  wrong  for  me  to  incur  such  a  debt," 
the  girl  answered,  in  a  troubled  tone. 

Miss  Phillipps  smiled. 

"  I  advise  you  to  believe  him,"  she  said.  "And 
let  me  tell  you  that  good-fortune  sometimes 
comes  to  one  as  well  as  evil." 

The  steamer  sailed  out  of  the  harbor.  Rowe- 
na  stood  on  deck  looking  rather  blindly  back  at 
the  receding  city.  She  kept  asking  herself  when 
she  would  stop  dreaming  and  become  herself 
again.  She  was  aware  of  her  friend  standing 
near,  and  it  seemed  to  her  that  this  conscious 
ness  was  what  enabled  her  to  maintain  any  de 
gree  of  self-control. 

She  was  fully  roused  when  the  harbor  had 
been  left  behind  by  the  approach  of  Miss  Phil- 
lipps's  maid,  who  had  been  arranging  their  be 
longings  in  their  rooms. 

This  person  came  to  inform  them  that  Mar- 
maduke  absolutely  refused  to  stay  in  his  basket 
another  instant. 


344  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

"  He  is  so  furious  that  he'll  rouse  the  whole 
ship.  And  the  steward  says  he'll  have  to  go 
where  the  dogs  belong." 

"  He  sha'n't." 

As  Rowena  made  this  declaration,  she  felt  that 
she  had  come  to  realities  again.  She  looked  at 
her  new  friend. 

"  I  don't  know  where  dogs  belong  on  a  ship," 
she  said,  "  but  I  belong  with  Marmaduke." 

The  maid  had  retreated  immediately.  As  the 
two  followed  her  and  neared  their  rooms,  they 
heard  a  muffled  sound,  and  they  found  the  ter 
rier  struggling  beneath  the  folds  of  a  shawl  in 
the  maid's  arms. 

"  He's  just  like  a  tiger,"  exclaimed  the  woman. 

The  individual  who  was  just  like  a  tiger  now 
succeeded  in  making  a  rent  in  the  shawl  and  in 
putting  his  ferocious  head  through  the  aperture 
thus  made.  He  trembled  with  delight  at  sight 
of  his  mistress,  who  immediately  sat  down  with 
him  held  up  to  her  face. 

Miss  Phillipps  assured  the  girl  that  a  judicious 
placing  of  fees  would  modify  laws  regarding  indi 
viduals  like  Marmaduke.  And  she  proved  to  be 
right.  Marmaduke  made  the  voyage  without 
being  entirely  banished  from  his  friends.  But  he 
was  glad  when  the  travelling  was  over  and  he 
was  settled,  though  in  very  small  quarters,  in 
Paris. 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  345 

He  immediately  began  to  take  walks  with  his 
mistress,  and  was  soon  as  knowing  as  any  "  dog 
of  the  boulevards  "  of  them  all.  He  accompanied 
her  to  the  studio  of  the  great  master,  and  as  she 
sat  at  her  easel,  he  reposed  himself  on  a  fold  of 
her  skirt.  Both  calmly  ignored  the  edict  that 
young  girls  should  not  go  out  alone. 

It  was  enough,  Rowena  felt,  that  this  teacher 
also  told  her,  as  Allestree  had  done,  that  "she 
had  the  touch." 

And  how  was  Miss  Phillipps  employing  her 
self?  Was  it  that  she  was  too  absorbed,  or  that 
Rowena  was  too  absorbed  ?  Certain  it  was  that, 
after  some  months,  the  two  saw  less  of  each  oth 
er  than  Rowena  had  expected.  But  if  anything 
were  occupying  Miss  Phillipps's  mind,  she  never 
relaxed  her  care  and  oversight  over  the  girl.  She 
was  never  less  than  kind.  It  could  not  be  helped 
that,  because  she  was  not  more  than  kind,  Ro 
wena  should  suffer.  But  she  was  too  proud  to 
show  by  the  slightest  sign  that  she  suffered. 
Many  times  as  she  sat  alone  with  brush  in  hand 
she  recalled  with  a  keen  bitterness  some  of  her 
old  fears  and  thoughts  of  her  friend.  She  re 
membered  the  face  she  had  painted.  But  she 
could  complain  of  nothing.  Could  she  ask  for 
the  glance  and  the  touch  she  missed? 

More  and  more  she  realized  the  blessing  of 
work.  She  applied  herself  with  a  sustained  and 


346  ROWENV    IN    BOSTON. 

healthy  energy.  Youth  quickly  adapted  itself. 
Rovvena  felt  for  her  work,  not  a  fancy,  but 
a  saturating  love.  Nothing,  she  believed,  could 
come  into  her  life  that  could  make  her  give 
that  up. 

She  was  thinking  of  this  one  day,  of  how  her 
master  had  praised  her  drawing  that  morning;  of 
how  it  was  almost  a  week  since  she  had  seen 
Miss  Phillipps ;  of  how  quickly  a  year  was  near 
ly  gone,  and  that  she  could  really  see  her  prog 
ress,  when  Marmaduke,  who  was  sedately  walk 
ing  at  her  heels  across  the  park  they  frequented, 
suddenly  darted  forward,  apparently  for  the  pur 
pose  of  effusive  greeting. 

Rowena  saw  a  man  stoop  and  pick  up  the  ter 
rier,  who  was  wriggling  and  barking.  The  next 
moment  she  was  shaking  hands  with  Keats  Brad 
ford. 

I  wish  this  were  a  love-story,  and  this  were  the 
beginning  of  it.  In  that  case,  I  should  have  the 
privilege  of  describing  all  the  interviews  which 
followed  between  these  two — I  beg  Marmaduke's 
pardon — between  these  three,  during  the  next 
few  months. 

Bradford  had  known  for  a  long  while  that  he 
was  in  earnest.  It  may  have  been  previously 
stated  in  these  chronicles  that  when  he  was  in 
earnest  he  behaved  precisely  like  a  young  man 
who  did  not  wear  a  monocle,  who  could  pro- 


ROWENY    IN    BOSTON.  347 

nounce  the  letter  r,  and  who  did  not  belong  to 
"the  very  best  set  in  Borston." 

As,  however,  this  is  not  a  love-story,  I  cannot 
tell  of  all  which  led  up  to  the  utterance  of  the 
following  remarks,  to  which  a  small  but  extreme 
ly  intelligent  dog  was  a  listener. 

"  Allestree  says,  everybody  says,  that  a  woman 
virtually  gives  up  her  work  if  she  marries.  Now, 
I  will  never  give  up  my  work." 

It  was  Rowena  who  spoke,  apparently  in  re 
ply  to  something  not  here  set  down. 

"  I  would  not  ask  it ;  I  would  not  wish  it,"  was 
the  fervent  response  from  Bradford.  "Besides, 
there  are  always  exceptions.  Only  think  of  the 
Brownings.  Do  you  believe  they  loved  their 
art  any  less  because  they  loved  each  other?" 

"They  are,  indeed,  exceptions,"  said  Rowena. 

"And  so  might  we  be,"  said  Bradford,  ar 
dently. 

Rowena  looked  up  at  him  for  an  instant. 

"  It  is  too  dangerous  an  experiment  to  try," 
she  answered,  with  a  touch  of  asperity.  "  I  am 
going  right  on  with  my  study,"  with  an  air  of 
finality.  "  I  seem  now  to  have  got  a  hold,  to 
have  really  begun.  I  am  even  contemplating  the 
Salon — in  the  future,"  blushing  now  with  a  beau 
tiful  warmth. 

"You  shall  go  right  on  with  your  study  just 
the  same,  if  you  will  only — " 


348  ROWENY    IN    BOSTON. 

The  young  man  almost  paused  there  in  the 
public  park  where  the  three  were  walking.  Some 
passers-by  glanced  at  them  and  smiled. 

"If  you  will  only  give  me  the  opportunity  to 
try  to  persuade  you — 

Again  Rowena  looked  up  at  him. 

It  is  possible  that  it  was  something  in  her  eyes 
which  made  Bradford's  heart  give  that  sudden, 
delightful  leap.  He  was  quite  content  to  believe 
her  eyes  rather  than  her  words. 

Nevertheless,  the  girl  had  spoken  truth  when 
she  had  spoken  of  a  dangerous  experiment 


THE    END. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


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